Revelations
by Senmut
Summary: Finally, the Colonials find someone who can solve the mystery of The Silent One: on a planet about to break up. A VS 3 story.


**From The Adama Journals**

It is now a full two sectars since the beginning of this "détente" relationship with Baltar and his crew of renegade Cylon centurions aboard his BaseShip. Over the last few sectons, it seems that there is a growing…..acceptance, or at least tolerance, of the situation as it now exists, even if the majority of our Warriors still wish it didn't exist. But the reality of seeing one of their own in Sergeant Mattoon, a great Warrior with as fine a record as any non-commissioned officer ever compiled, crack mentally has proved to be a most chastening agent. The Warriors now recognize the difference between grumbling, and crossing an unacceptable line that would stain their records and betray not only their oaths as Warriors, but also their obligation regarding the safety and well-being of the people of the Fleet. And I suppose it helps that my humbling myself before them after the Mattoon tragedy has made them more cognizant of the burdens I've had to face in trying to accept this improbable reality as well. It also helps that we now have a full-time counselor at hand in Tarnia, who can offer a sympathetic ear for those Warriors who have no intimate friends or family that they could ordinarily open up to. While I have not asked Tarnia for reports on specific individuals who have sought her out, she does tell me that of the fifteen who've had sessions with her over the last two sectons, she sees _nothing_ resembling the kind of profile that fit Sergeant Mattoon, and does not believe we're facing any repetition of that tragic incident.

And so, with that tragedy behind us, and which for reasons of security must be made a permanent secret from Baltar, the business at hand returns to one of making the détente work in other areas. The level of integrated patrols has increased to two per secton, utilizing four fighters from each ship, while the sharing of data from separate patrols requires a greater level of Human-Cylon communication. Baltar's ships, when they operate on their own, have taken up the task of patrolling our rear flank, beyond the range of the _Century_'s scanners, since their own ship scanners are more apt to detect any long-range signs of pursuit sent out by the Cylon Empire. As all data from these patrols is then transmitted directly to _Galactica_ Core Command before these fighters return to the BaseShip, there is no possibility of any information from their patrols being concealed from our knowledge. Baltar has been completely cooperative on that front. Indeed there are times when it almost sounds like the man has adopted an air of total deference which is enough to boggle the mind. I suspect that this changed attitude from the Baltar most of us are accustomed to, has much to do with Ayesha's presence in his life. I've only spoken with her via com-line twice since she rejoined Baltar, but both times she seems to have an air of serene acceptance about her situation. And that kind of serenity can only stem from the mind of one who knows that she's made the right decision, at least for herself.

With Baltar and his crew presenting no difficulties, the only other potential trouble for me could come from our newly constituted Council, which has five new members as a result of the recent elections, not to mention a permanent "Vice-President" in the form of Siress Lydia. But even there, all is quiet. The new members are all fairly young, and not anxious to assert themselves too boldly at this stage, while Siress Lydia has seemingly contented herself with the prestige of her title, and the fact that she receives greater access to information than the rest of the Council ordinarily receives. I'm mindful of Sire Anton's warning that Lydia is most likely biding her time, and artfully playing the role of obedient ally, until the first opportunity that she can exploit for herself. But for now, with no trouble emanating from her, Uri gone, and Antipas where he belongs, it's best I let myself sit back and enjoy the general "peace and quiet" as it were, that's come from both the Council and from Baltar, not to mention the comfort of my family. Athena's pregnancy is progressing well, Boomer often consults with me about the perils of fatherhood, and Apollo and Sheba seem to grow ever closer with each passing day. Even Boxey seems more well-adjusted and at peace than at any time since his mother died. Lords of Kobol be praised! Knowing full well how circumstances can change to end it all in an instant's notice, I intend to do just that. And if, God forbid, that should happen, I must be prepared to face that challenge.

**Prologue**

_Bang!_

_Crack!_

"Awww…_cheese and rice_!"

"Pop?" Silence. _"POP!"_

"Yeah?" came the testy reply, from behind a tangle of wires and tubing. _Thunk. Clank. _

"Dinner's ready. Such as it is."

_Snap!_ "Aw, sh…"

"POP!"

"What? I'm trying to get this bloody…"

"DINNER!" yelled the newcomer. "You know, food?"

"Good Lord, is it that late already?" said the older one, sliding out from under the panel. He looked around, then slowly sat up, and glanced at his battered watch. He wiped the grime off the cracked crystal.

"Yes, it is," said the other, a bit indulgently. "Later, in fact."

"How time flies when you're having fun," said the first, getting slowly to his feet. He plopped his tool down on the seat, grabbed up a long stick for support, and limped towards the hatch. "And what, pray tell, is tonight's Blue Plate Special, _garcon_?"

"_Garcon_?" She put a hand on one hip. "I'll have you know that I'm a _mademoiselle_!"

"Well just spank my butt and send me to Alaska. Sorry, hon," he smirked, containing his mirth at her atrocious accent. He'd known French fries that sounded more Parisian.  
"I'll probably forgive you . . _. after_ you eat my dinner. We're having roast

…uh, ummm…whatever-they-are, with some veggies. At least I _think_ they're veggies. They started out green, anyway."

"Mmmm!" said the old man, rubbing his stomach. "Can't wait! I'm starvin', like Lee Marvin!"

"You too, Pop?" smiled the girl, shaking her head.

"Well, you know how it is with us gourmet chefs, hon," he grinned.

"Uh…no. How is it?"

"Well, remind me one day to tell you about my stint in a Five-Star hotel kitchen. Tony Roma's in fact, and…"

"Hey, any time you want to cook…"

"Love to, but I gotta get that horizon sensor back in, and…"

"And leave all the domestic stuff to me."

"Would I do a thing like that?" He looked at her, face covered in shock.

"Sexist pig!"

"Moi?"

"Vous."

"Now, now! Show some…"

He was cut off, as everything began to shake, and he grabbed for support. Tools rolled across the floor, and the cabin wobbled. The girl reached out as well, then as suddenly as it had started, the tremor was over.

"Not so bad, that time," said the girl. "Do you think…?"

"I'm not willing to bet on it, hon," said the old man. "C'mon. I think you mentioned dinner?"

"I did."

"Then let's." They both exited the cabin, and headed for their small shelter. "Say, did I ever tell you about that little joint in Arizona? Near Four Corners? The one with the fabulous chili?"

"Several times, Pop," smiled the girl.

"Oh, really? Well, I was in my classic '63 Studebaker _Avanti_, driving down the old Route 66…"

As they walked away, neither heard, over the rush of the stream and the wind in the trees, the beeping coming from the cabin behind them. On the main panel, the scope was lit up, two contacts cutting across it.

_**Chapter One **_

"And where was this?" asked Jolly, over his helmet mic. He looked out his canopy, at the Viper next to him.

"Olreck Six," replied the other. "It was a planet on the fringes of the Empire. It had been colonized over twenty years before, but now that was being challenged."

"And you were there?" asked Jolly.

"Yes," replied his wingman. "My first taste of combat in fact, Jolly. By all the gods, it was glorious!"

"I see," said Jolly, not sure that he really did. While it might sometimes be necessary, combat was never…_glorious._

Unless you were a Zohrloch, apparently.

Jolly was flying ahead of the Fleet on patrol, his wingman for this mission Lieutenant Sargamesh, formerly of the Imperial Zohrloch Starfleet, and now Colonial citizen, and Warrior. Originally trained as a pilot, he had slipped well back into that role, and been certified on the Viper in record time. Already a veteran of one engagement, the destruction of Lucifer's BaseShip, he was one of the few pilots who actually seemed to _like _going on patrol. So much, that one secton ago, he had even stepped forward and volunteered to do an integrated patrol with Cylon fighters from Baltar's BaseShip. Something that most Colonial Warriors were still hesitant to do, even if they were over much of the burning anger inside them thanks to the tragic incident surrounding Flight Sergeant Mattoon, four sectons ago.

_Wouldn't surprise me if he were _born_ in a cockpit, _Jolly mused. _With his mother performing a strafing run concurrently, no doubt_.

"Yes, Jolly! Think of it. Guns blazing, death all around you, comrades and foe alike falling to the inevitability of battle. Yet, you remaining, somehow untouched, to go on, and fight. To achieve victory!"

"Was it a tough one?" asked Jolly, shaking his head.

"Very. It seemed Olreck, though it was never inhabited, was claimed by the Ibenian Convocation, of whom we had previously known nothing. They were a new race. They said the whole system belonged to them, and demanded it be vacated at once, and all the infrastructure we had built turned over to them. The Zohr refused, of course."

_Of course._

"They brought up six of their heavy battleships, and threatened to bombard the colony cities from orbit. But, in spite of their temerity, they were honorable. They allowed our people to call for help."

"Unusual," commented Jolly. Sure as Hades Hole something the _Cylons_ would never do. Or rather, he amended to himself, the Cylons he was used to thinking about. More and more, the Warriors were trying to condition themselves to think of the Cylons they worked with _now_ as different and to make the necessary distinctions in their minds.

"Somewhat. Yes, it was my first engagement, as a newly-minted warrior. The battle went on for seven days, Jolly! Imagine that! Seven entire days!" Sargamesh was clearly enthralled by the memory.

"Sounds tough," observed Jolly.

"Oh, it was, but endurance often decides the battle! We lost many fighters, and two of our capital ships. Another badly mauled. We were outnumbered. But then, a few of us joined up, and made a run on the command ship." Sargamesh was silent a moment, and Jolly took the opportunity to re-check his scanner. Ah, something ahead.

"Then, with the loss of their commanders, we swept them out of the system. Oh yes, the obliteration of their command ship was beautiful! We later went on to conquer them, of course."

_Of course._

"Yes, Jolly…"

_Beep._

"Hey, a contact. Two and a half degrees to port."

"I see it," replied Sargamesh, back to the here and now. "Metallic. No energy signatures."

"Right. It's near that solar system at… 287."

"Yes. Scanning it." They waited. "I am picking up six planets, orbiting a binary sun. Spectral Class Gamma Four."

"Yeah. I see them. Hey, faint energy readings from one of them."

"Confirmed. Coming up on the metallic contact, Jolly."

Both craft slowed to near-stop, as the contact on their scanners came at last into view. It was a chunk of metal. White, with dark streaks across it, it looked as if it had been part of a ship's hull, once. With his scanner at full, Jolly could make out rivet holes along one edge.

"Jolly?" asked Sargamesh.

"We take it back to the _Galactica _with us. But first, let's check out that planet ahead."

"Affirmative," replied the other. "We shall come back for it."

So said, both men hit their turbos, covering the distance to the planet in question in a few centons. It was on the same side of the suns as they, and they set to scanning it.

"Habitable," said Sargamesh. "Oxygen, nitrogen atmosphere. Wide oceans. I read considerable life forms."

"Me too. But she's awfully active, geologically. Look."

They both did. Across a wide swath of the ocean girdling the southern hemisphere, numerous volcanoes were violently erupting. Further north, there were vast regions covered with still-steaming lava, and the scanners on the Vipers read numerous quakes in progress."

"That must be the energy source we picked up. Not very inviting," said Sargamesh.

"No," said Jolly. Just then, his scanner beeped. "Behind us. Asteroidal body. Massive."

"I see it. Headed towards the planet. It will intersect with us."

"Distance interval…twenty-eight microns."

"Peeling off," said Sargamesh. Both Vipers did so, just in time to miss the object in question. A huge, iron-nickel body, it screamed through the space they had just vacated, towards the planet. Even as they watched, it began to heat up, as it hit the planet's upper atmosphere. At a steep angle, it flamed into a searing ball of fire, as it streaked towards the surface. Within less than a centon, it began to break up, just before it slammed into the empty ocean of the southern hemisphere, sending up a huge fireball of pulverized rock and steam.

"Remind me not to settle here," said Jolly.

Sargamesh just grunted, then: "Jolly, we are being scanned."

"Huh?"

"Look. On band eight. Some sort of scanning device is tracking us. I am getting a fix, now. That must have been the energy signature we picked up earlier."

"Right. Okay, we will be passing over the source in about…one centon."

The two pilots scanned, as they drew closer. Obviously, this planet had once been a lush and verdant paradise, but the scanners told of massive stresses building up below the crust. Even as their computers digested this, they came around the planet, and were greeted by the image of the planet's large moon, rising over the blue waters of the sea.

"We are over the transmission site now," said Sargamesh.

"Recording," said Jolly.

"Jolly!" said the Zohrloch, as his instruments zoomed in on the target. "Look!"

"Yeah, I see it. A ship!"

"Do we land?" As senior Warrior, it was Jolly's call.

"No. We're close to the edge on fuel, now. Even at full turbo, we won't be back in range of the _Galactica_ for almost three centars."

"Understood."

"Okay, let's get going."

"On your wake," said Sargamesh. So said, the two sped out of orbit, and left the mysterious planet behind.

"There ya go, Commander," said the young man, closing up his terminal monitor. "It should be fine, now."

"Thank you, Copernicus," replied Adama.

"It was really simple, sir," said the other, putting his tools away. "The parabolic wave injector had failed. It was the old Type F, you know. So all I had to do was replace it with a new one. I used a Type J, which is alot…"

"I know, Copernicus," said Adama, patiently, well aware of how the fellow could run on, if not stopped. Copernicus, born with a neurological disorder that made interaction with large crowds painful and sometimes frightening, had become his legal ward through a bizarre series of events. The never-acknowledged natural child of the late Sire Uri, and his only surviving blood relative, Copernicus had been the legatee of a vast fortune in the Sire's will, of which Adama had been appointed, much to his own surprise, the executor. While he could "take care of himself", Copernicus was utterly clueless and ill-equipped to deal with the less well-intentioned members of Humanity, and it was no small task to see to it that Copernicus' new means were administered with his best interests at heart. In fact, he hadn't even been told yet of his new status, Tarnia, his friend and therapist, deeming it best not to overload his already overstressed mind with yet more imponderables.

"Well, if you need anything more, just let me know, Commander," said Copernicus. Adama handed him several cubits, and the fellow headed out, leaving the Commander in peace. Adama leaned back, and sighed. The fact that this was the most serious problem to come up in the last secton was yet another reminder of how he needed to be grateful for how things had been relatively calm and quiet since the Mattoon incident. And yet, often Adama wondered, why in spite of all that, it was so easy to still feel more tired and dispirited? He wondered if it wasn't part of an old Warrior's yearning for some R&R on an actual planet, to find some necessary down time. ;

_I should have taken more advantage of Brylon V_, he thought. Right now, he certainly wished he could sit back and look at trees. Maybe he should reserve some time in the new "park", on the Agro Ship? There were trees, there. He missed trees. A lot. And the sound of rushing water. And…

_Beep._

Oh, to miss telecoms.

"Commander Adama, here."

"Jolly's patrol will be landing in fifteen centons, Commander," said Colonel Tigh, image on the newly-repaired monitor. "They appear to have found something interesting, sir."

"I see. Have them report to me in the War Room."

"Yes, sir."

"Interesting," said Adama, as he reviewed the flight recorder data from both Vipers. "It's definitely a ship. And it was scanning you."

"Indeed it was, Commander," replied Sargamesh. "But it was not on any frequency normally used by our equipment. Only passive scan picked it up."

"Any correlations?" asked Adama, zooming in on the image from orbit of the grounded craft. It had a sharp, tapered nose, and sat at the end of a long gully. There were signs of activity around it.

"None so far, sir," said Jolly. "We sent it all to Doctor Wilker's lab, including the metal piece we found, but nothing yet."

"Very well. When both of you have finished your written reports, see that Colonel Tigh and myself get them promptly. Oh…and another thing," he hesitated for just a brief instant, "Remember to forward a copy to Command Centurion Moray, aboard Baltar's ship."

"Yes, sir," replied both pilots. There was only the faintest level of reluctance in Jolly's tone.

.

"Your father was in politics?" asked Korl, in the OC, across the table from Boomer. Like Jolly and Sargamesh, Boomer and Cree had also recently returned from patrol, and were unwinding with friends, and a few cold ones.

"Yes. Oh, he wasn't on the _Council of Twelve_ or anything," replied Boomer. "Nothing so…grand. Just our city council, when I was a kid."

"Yet, you chose the life of a warrior," said the other, clearly intrigued. "Not a politician." From the tone in which the Zohrloch said the word, it was clear he had little liking or patience for the breed.

"Yes, I did. I saw so many enjoying a life without obligations, that I felt that I needed to do something greater."

"Indeed," said Korl, nodding. "And did your family object to your choosing so dangerous a career?"

"Not at all. My parents died when I was eight yahrens old," replied Boomer. He decided not to relate the story just now, of how he had been orphaned. His father, cut down in public, by a withdrawal-crazed dope addict, too long without a fix and in need of money. His mother, moving to protect her son and daughter, getting a knife though the heart for her trouble, before the creep was wrestled to the sidewalk by passersby.

…_believe it? They just paroled this boray, two days ago. Now this! Fracking idiots! God, those poor kids…_

Of how he'd stood, two days later, rain pouring down, his sister's hand in his, watching his parents lowered into a wet grave, and refusing to show his feelings. Of being taken in by an aunt, until her death sent him on his way to the Academy.

"I too," said Korl. "Mine died when I was but a lad, although my father was a laborer, killed in a mining accident. It seems that both of us have seen tragedy push us towards the career that ultimately brought us to where we are today." He took a long slug of his drink. "Yes, the _tr'zh dakh _cannot be avoided, my friend."

"The what?" asked Cree.

"_The Great Fabric,_" answered Sargamesh, two chairs down from Korl. "Similar to your concept of Fate. The Great Fabric wherein is woven the patterns of our lives, the events that make them up, and each man's ultimate destiny."

"_A—hem!" _ahemed a female voice.

"And women, too," amended the other, glancing over at Athena, who, unlike the men, was nursing a mineral water. From his gaze and expression, she couldn't be certain if the other was humoring her, or if he really meant it. After all, the fellow's native culture was intensely patriarchal, though he tried not to be overly obvious about it. Given his entry into Colonial society as an adult, he was doing remarkably well, adapting to more flexible ways. "None, man, woman, spirit or beast, escapes the destiny which has been woven for them, Lieutenant."

"Sounds kind of…limiting," said Jolly, "As if we are nothing but what we are predestined to be."

"Right," said Giles. "What about the idea of free choice?"

"Yeah," said Boomer, who, perhaps surprisingly to some, enjoyed delving into the realm of the philosophical and theoretical. "Was it destined for my parents to die when they did, and for me to become a Coloni…"

"_Attention, Lieutenants Jolly and Sargamesh, report to Doctor Wilker's lab please. Repeat, Lieutenants Jolly and Sargamesh, report to Doctor Wilker's lab. Thank you."_

"Saved by the bell," said Jolly, looking at Boomer.

"What's up, Jolly?" asked Cree.

"I'll let you know, guys." He tossed off the last of his tankard, and headed for the door.

"The same?" asked Adama, across from Hummer, in Wilker's lab. Wilker himself, along with another assistant, was off working on the scanners aboard the _Malocchio _at present, and Hummer was minding shop.

"It is, Commander," said the Technician, for once without his ever-present earphones. He indicated the piece of metal plating on the table. "This piece, found by their patrol, " he indicated Jolly and Sargamesh, "is a perfect match for the one that hit Captain Apollo's shuttle on the way towards the Ki system." He pointed towards a screen, rapidly filling with photos, equations and graphs. "Metallurgic and spectro-analysis shows conclusively that these two pieces of metal came from the same source. Possibly even from the same factory. Even the paint is a match, sir."

"A ship," said Jolly. He looked over at Apollo. When flying a shuttle into that system, to rescue a downed Boomer, the ship had been hit by a chunk of space debris. Upon their return to the _Galactica_, it had been found to be a piece of wreckage, doubtless from some damaged space vehicle. Adama had wondered, when all was said and done, if it might have been from the ship of the so-called "Silent One", who's journal and effects were still stubbornly defying complete analysis. He had learned a lot about this mystery, since arriving at Brylon V, and now, as if literally thrown in their way, was another piece of the puzzle.

"Yes," said Hummer. "Unquestionably the same sort of ship that shed this chunk." He pointed at the piece found near Ki.

"Any idea how long it's been out there?" asked Apollo, idly running his hand through his ever-thickening beard, while contemplating the metal object on the table.

"Well, it's only an estimate of course," said Hummer, "but from the changes at a sub-atomic level to some of the constituents of the alloy, as well as the degrading of the paint, I estimate that it has been floating out there in space for a minimum of ten yahrens. Possibly as long as fifty."

"Wow," said Jolly.

"Any way to narrow it down any further?" asked Adama.

"Not with what we have now, sir," replied Hummer. "There is no precise analog in our scientific database for either the alloy used, or the coating on the metal. The degree of breakdown is merely a best estimate, based on the closest equivalents in our data banks."

"Could this piece," asked Sargamesh, indicating the one they had found, "have come from the ship we scanned on the planet's surface?"

"No way to determine that definitely,' said Hummer. "Although it seems a good bet."

"I see," said the Zohrloch, a touch of impatience in his voice. "If I may?" he asked, indicating the equipment. Hummer stepped aside, and Sargamesh began making adjustments. The image zoomed in, on the downed spacecraft. Slowly, the machine enhanced and sharpened the image, to the limit of it's data. Then, Sargamesh began rotating it, after converting it to a 3-D image. "Ah!"

"Something?" asked Adama and Apollo at once.

"I trust so," said Sargamesh. With a finger, he drug the scan of the new find, to a blown-up spot on the orbital scan. With a bit more rotation, the computer matched up the two. "Yes!"

"They fit!" said Jolly. "Well, look at that."

"I suspected they might," said Sargamesh. He cast a disapproving glance at Hummer.

The piece on their table fit perfectly into a spot near the nose of the mysterious vehicle. A canard-type control surface, one of which had been missing. "We have confirmation, Commander," said the Zohrloch, turning to Adama. "This debris fits the vessel Jolly and myself scanned from orbit. It came from _this _ship. And if that piece," he indicated the one from near Ki, "is of identical manufacture, then the two are without doubt connected." He turned back to the image of the ship. "This vessel, and those who live near it, hold answers to the questions you have."

"He's right, Father," said Apollo. "This could be the final piece of the whole Silent One puzzle." He looked from his father to the mysterious ship. "And the data we need about Earth." _Not to mention further insights on the tie-in to the Derelict_, he added to himself.

_And to muzzle those who still insist Earth is a fantasy, _Adama reflected.

"Agreed. Very well. Apollo, prepare a shuttle mission. Everything you could possibly need. Pick your crew. Let me know when all is ready." He turned to Hummer, and requested all the new data on a chip. Now.

"Where will you be, Father?"

"First, I need to contact Baltar about these developments. He should find this…..interesting. As soon as I'm done with him, I'll be on the _Rising Star_," said Adama, and left the room. The rest exchanged glances, then slowly filed out of the room.

"I would have gotten it," said Hummer to himself. He turned to one of Baltar's Cylon pilots, currently partially dismantled and sitting in the corner. "I _would_ have."

The Cylon made no answer.

_**Chapter Two**_

Adama's conversation with Baltar turned out to be, mercifully, brief. Once again, the one-time Council member, and traitor to Humanity, was totally polite, totally deferential, totally understanding, and once again it only served to leave Adama uneasy because it was behavior he wasn't used to seeing from Baltar. But when it came time for Adama to mention that these discoveries likely offered more tangible clues to the location of Earth, an amused reaction came over Baltar's face. One that was more reminiscent of the Baltar that Adama was familiar with. Followed by the mildest of chuckles.

"So Earth isn't a fable after all. My apologies for doubting you."

The veiled reference to their "conversation" long ago in the Tomb of the Ninth Lord of Kobol was enough to make Adama remember that no matter how much things seemingly had changed, the old Baltar was never going to be gone completely. And that was enough to strangely reassure him that his unease over Baltar's behavior was justified, because the potential for the traitor to betray Humanity a second time was something that would always be there.

But for now though, he thought as he boarded his private shuttle that would take him over to the _Rising Star_, he could at least keep enjoying the benefits of Baltar's changed attitude and not let paranoia be his guide. By the time the shuttle had completed its journey and arrived at the luxury liner, the matter of Baltar and the détente was out of his mind, replaced by the more immediate issue at hand, and the hope that he'd get some new, vital information.

With two Warriors from Colonial Security following behind him as protective escorts, Adama made his way through the luxury ship's corridors to one of the less glamorous lounges the ship offered. He checked his chrono. Yes. The…..individual he needed to talk to would be there, giving a performance.

"Ah, Commander Adama, how nice to have you aboard!" Chief Steward Zeibert looked up as he saw Adama enter. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Adama told him, and Zeibert led him to the locale in question.

Adama's eyes adjusted to the low-level lighting, after stepping through the entrance to one of the several dance clubs aboard the _Rising Star._ He was struck by how the Lounge's lighting and décor were more garish, bordering on hideous compared to the dignified cleanliness of the Empyreal or Astral Lounges, which Adama was more prone to visit. And because the this was one the places where more raucous customers were known to gather, that meant the tables and floor were strewn with the remnants of snack food that would require a thorough cleaning, or perhaps recycling, during the overnight shift.

_Cleaning? They may have to blast!_

"Thank you, Zeibert, I'm here to see…." He then heard a sound from the other end of the room. Somewhere between the screech of overstressed metal, and someone being strangled.

"…_would that I were again on the shores of the warm, puce Hurguugl'ek! O! O, the Hurguugl'ek, where my true love…"_

"Hello, Ozko," said Adama, getting into the creature's line of sight. The huge being stopped, his tentacles hovering over the keyboard, and turned.

"Greetings, Commander,' said the other, full name Ozko Bolzakian, and a native of the planet Calcorya. He extended a tentacle in Adama's direction. "And what brings you here? As you can see, I am between shows." He waved another tentacle across the room.

"Yes, that's why I came now," said Adama. _Hoping to miss the show…_

"I like to play some of the tunes from home, when I can," replied the huge alien, looking much like a giant upside-down artichon with a single red eye amidst all the tentacles. They had first encountered the creature on the Zykonian Station at Brylon V, where he had proven to have information about ships that, incredibly, turned out to be from Earth. Just before their departure from that station, Ozko's chartered transport failed to appear, and Adama graciously agreed to offer him a lift, and he'd quickly obtained a gig, not only in the Astral Lounge, but also the occasional show in one of the _Rising Star'_s less high-hat establishments. though Chief Steward Zeibert had only reluctantly agreed to the Calcoryn's presence. Adama knew that while Ozko's brand of entertainment required a very acquired taste, the Commander nonetheless felt a sense of obligation that Ozko's needs be looked after, and thus he had leaned on Zeibert to accept Ozko's presence aboard the luxury ship. Though keeping a low profile, the Fleet was not yet totally beyond the sphere of influence of races known to the Calcoryans, so he felt sure of eventually getting a lift back to his homeworld. Privately, Adama had hoped for a moment like this, where the other would be available should they encounter any of the missing Earthmen.

Perhaps his prayer had been answered?

"How may I help you, Commander?" Ozko asked.

"Could you take a look at this?" Adama presented a data pad before the Calcoryn that would enable Ozko to see all the information Sargamesh had been able to process.

"YES!" said Ozko, as he studied the data Adama laid before him. Every tentacle was aquiver, which, Adama had learned, was a sign of excitement in these beings. "That is the ship, or one of them, that I saw on Krylamic, Commander."

"You are certain?" pressed the Commander, no less excited.

"Beyond doubt. The shape of the vessel. The color. Even some of the emblems on her tail section." Ozko nodded. It was not a pretty sight. "This is one of the two vessels that blasted their way out of the aerodrome on Krylamic, all those years ago. I have often wondered what happened to them, and the friends I made among the crews."

"Well, we may know soon, Ozko," said Adama, telling the alien being what the patrol had found. "I pray God we may know soon."

"Cheese and rice! Damn!"

"What is it, Pop?"

"Have you checked the scans?"

"Not since the last time I checked them," replied the girl. Her father gave her an annoyed look. "Seriously, no. What is it?"

"Two things. The moon was closer on this last pass than ever. By over ten thousand."

"Then we haven't got as much time as you'd hoped?"

"I hope I'm wrong, kid."

"What was the other thing?" asked the girl, moving closer.

"This." Her father replayed the data. "See?" He ran a finger across the screen.

"Visitors."

"Yeah. Somebody came calling, early last evening."

"Any idea who?" asked the girl. "Could it be…them, again?"

He winced as she seemed to shrink into herself. "I doubt it, baby, but whoever they were, they were hauling some major ass. Doing almost eighty thousand when they passed over us."

"Holy… Holy high velocity, Batman…" she said, with false humor.

"God! A hundred disks to choose from, and you watched _that_?"

"Right after you, Pop."

"Uh huh."

"Did they try and make contact at all?"

"Nope, at least not on any channel that still works, hon. Which reminds me. Have you got that frequency divider circuit done?"

"Almost. I had to take a break, before my back ends up permanently bent."

"Hey, that's _my_ excuse, not yours, me being the broken down old fossil around here. You're just a pup. Well get to it. If I'm right, we only have a month at the most, and we're going to need everything back on-line as soon as we possibly can."

"Right, Pop." She turned to go, then turned back. "Pop?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really think we can make it? Before…" She jerked a thumb upwards.

"I have to, kid.' He moved closer, and smiled, laying a hand on her shoulder. "For your sake. For your mother's. For all of them. We have to."

"What is the countdown, sir?" asked Sargamesh, glancing back along the length of the shuttle. It was, he was forced to admit, superior in design and construction to those used by the Empire.

"We launch in thirty centons," said Apollo, nose buried in his preflight. "Hummer is checking the last of the equipment."

"I see." The Zohrloch cast a glance, back at the technician. "He is going to be coming with us?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. He requested it, and the Commander approved."

"Very well," said Sargamesh, and moved to the back of the shuttle. There, among the equipment, was Hummer, dutifully checking off each item, with Starbuck. The Zohrloch cast a baleful look at the technician, then wiped it away as he was noticed.

"Everything checks out," said Hummer.

"Great job, kid," said Starbuck. "And you?" he asked, looking at Sargamesh.

"I was reporting to Captain Apollo that the final check-out on my Viper is complete, everything nominal. I was merely perusing our supplies."

"Uh, yeah," said Starbuck. "Just a centon, kid," he said to Hummer, and motioned Sargamesh outside. "What is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Hummer. You're looking at him like he was a **---,"** he stopped as he realized that he was about to use the term "Cylon" but then remembered that wasn't appropriate in the new age of the détente, "ah, some enemy chopping up your grandmother. What gives?"

"He is a…technician," replied Sargamesh.

"Yeah? And?" Sargamesh related to the Lieutenant how Hummer had missed the "fit" of the latest piece of space debris, and the ship on the planet. "Hey, he would have gotten it in time. Maybe he's better at cards than puzzles. He skinned me at pyramid last secton."

"Yes," agreed Sargamesh. "But he did not find it _quickly_. In a crisis situation, time is a critical factor, as you well know, and such delays could cost lives."

"It was just a computer-enhanced scan," said Starbuck. "Not real-time stuff."

"As you say," replied the other, obviously unimpressed..

"Look, Sargamesh, I know you're from a different, well, way of looking at things, but if there's going to be a potential problem, working with Hummer on this mission, I need to know now. I can always get another pilot, but techs with Hummer's talents are . . . well, they're a rare commodity."

The Zohrloch's eyebrows rose at that, but he merely responded, "No, there will not be. As long as he does his duty."

"Right. Well, I wouldn't worry about that," said Starbuck, slowly. He looked at his chrono. "Okay. Launch in twenty-five centons."

"On my way," said Sargamesh.

Truth be told, there _was _a problem, of sorts. Sargamesh's culture was from earliest times, by necessity, geared towards war. Like many another warrior society, it had passed through various stages, and developed it's social classes and power elites. His world was still very much centered around the elevation of the warrior above all others. Those who fought were deemed to be of superior value to those who labored. Be they farmer, common unskilled drudge, or the ones who actually made the weapons of war possible, they all were deemed as less deserving of respect than those who actually did the fighting. While a mere trifle to Starbuck's way of thinking, Hummer's "failure" to catch the match between debris and ship only served to reinforce, for Sargamesh, a life-long prejudice against "mere" technicians. And to have his position in Colonial society placed below that of a negligent_… technician_ was both unexpected, and demoralizing.

_Humans! Humans were from The Twelve Worlds, Zohrlochs were from Eridu._

"_Commander, shuttle mission ready to launch,"_ came Tigh's voice from the Bridge.

"Launch."

"Ready?"

"Gimme about ten seconds," said the girl, as she made a final check of the board before her. All seemed in order, at least as far as she could shake what she'd been taught out of her memory. "Okay, here goes, Pop." She flipped up a bank of switches. Almost at once, a vibration began to fill the ship's frame, and a low whine to rise in pitch. An indicator on the board began to move, a colored line sliding across the gauge. "It's working!" she called. "So far, no problems."

"Okay, right side."

As before, the girl flipped up a bank of switches, and the same thing happened. The vibration and whine, followed by a shaking of the whole ship. She crossed her fingers. _This _could be it. Maybe…

_Bang!_

"Bloody hell!" cried her father. "Shutdown!" She did so, and the noise died away, the vibration stilling to nothing. "Damn," he said, checking something inside an open hatch on the deck. Smoke wafted out. "I was afraid of that. We got a burnout. One of the relays."

"Can you fix it?"

"I think so, hon. But, we're running low on parts, and I'm going to have to pop in a new buss, from the look of it."

"Well, at least the cryo pump on the left one fires up. Can we do it? Make orbit, on just one engine?"

"I don't know, hon. The book says no. If we were back at Houston or the Cape, and everything was in top order, I'd say…maybe. She was designed to make it back from Mars on one nucleonic engine if needs be, but they never planned for this."

"Can we strip out any more weight?"

"She's down to the frame as it is, babe, and we never even _had_ a kitchen sink. I don't think we can, not without sacrificing something vital."

"Okay, Pop. I just…"

She stopped, as the ground began to tremble again. Gentle at first, it grew in intensity, and they dashed for the outside. There, at the head of the valley many miles away, the volcano was once more belching ash and steam. Then, after a few seconds, all was still again. Only the distant rumble of the peak disturbed the silence.

"It's getting worse," said the girl.

"I know, hon. I know." He looked up at the smoldering cone, then at the moon, huge and looming in the sky. _Did they…could they…?_

"Pop?"

"Come on, baby. Let's get to work. This old bucket ain't gonna fix herself."

"Right."

As they headed back inside, the ground rumbled once more, then was silent.

_**Chapter Three **_

"On course, behind our probe, Commander," said Tigh, as Adama entered the bridge. "Four centars, nine centons, Commander."

"Good," said Adama, then turned, burying himself in some other detail of command. Heentered the then turned and saw the attractively garbed figure of Siress Lydia entering. With a somewhat reluctant air, he rose and came over to greet the new Council Vice-President, prepared to keep her informed on all significant events that mandated advance notification ahead of the rest of the Council. He knew Lydia would be highly unlikely to offer any suggestions of her own. She'd just be glad to enjoy the privilege of knowing all this inside information.

Tigh kept his eye on the two of them conversing for only a brief centon, allowing himself a moment's scowl. But, he knew there was nothing for him to say, so he simply returned to his own duties. Not envying one bit the position his CO now found himself in.

"Okay, we now have the planet on scanners," said Apollo, from the shuttle. "Full scan, Starbuck."

"Right," said the other, following instructions. "How's it going out there, guys?"

"Just fine," said Jolly. Sargamesh said much the same.

"Fourteen centons to visual," said Apollo. "We'll make orbit, scan the site below, then try and make radio contact."

"Understood," replied both Viper pilots.

"I've got to admit, I'm excited," said Cassie, moving forward to the pilot's station. "This could be it. Answers. Finally."

"Me too," said Starbuck, who ever since his incarceration on Proteus Prison had wondered about the mysterious "Silent One", and his obvious knowledge of Earth. While in the intervening time many other crises had arisen to command his attention, he often returned to it, in his private moments. He had even sought out Robber, and some of the other ex-cons from Proteus, for whatever bits of information that they might, even unknowingly, hold, regarding the long-dead spacefarer.

But, there seemed little that they could add of any substance, and with the Ziklagi murderer Korax, battle with the Ziklagoio, near-death, the reappearance of Baltar and the beginning of the détente, and his father's recent heartbreak, the demands upon his time and attention had been formidable. All said, it was nice to chase after a dream for a change!

Now, however, _this_ was it. A ship, with active heat signatures, and apparent _living _beings, which, all the circumstantial evidence suggested, were from Earth. Beings who resided on the planet just coming into visual range. And unlike the experience with the Terrans, there would be no room for doubt this time on whether or not these people came from the Thirteenth Tribe.

"It's beautiful," said Jensen, standing behind Cassie. "Almost…almost like home."

"Sure is, kid," said Starbuck, wistfully. He turned back, to regard the young officer. "How ya doing?"

"Pretty good, sir," replied Jensen, another victim of the diabolical Ziklagi saboteur and assassin. Horribly injured and left for dead by Korax, he had, against all the odds, survived his injuries, and recovered. Extensive therapy and regeneration treatments had restored his ability to walk, and after all these sectars, he had at last been certified fit to return to duty. "All that exercise is helping, and the numbness is gone now."

"Great," replied Starbuck, who had taken something of a shine to the kid. In their various duels, the Ziklagi shapeshifter had assumed Jensen's form, in an attempt to get close to his desired target, Starbuck. Fortunately, the murderous alien had failed to make certain that the young Warrior was actually dead, much to Jensen's satisfaction. While devoutly spiritual by nature, he was not terribly anxious to be joining the Lords of Kobol, just yet.

"He was a fast healer," said Cassie, who had overseen much of the kid's treatment and therapy. "But don't go overboard all at once, Jensen," she admonished.

"You mean don't pull a 'Starbuck', ma'am?"

"I wasn't going to say that," she replied, trying to stifle a smile.

"Ah, but you _meant_ it," said Starbuck, leaning back in his seat. He turned to Cassie. "Didn't you?"

"Well…"

"Damned with faint praise, Starbuck?" interjected Apollo.

"Well, actually…"

_Beep_

"Apollo?" asked Cassie.

"Scanner. We just got scanned, everyone. Jolly? Sargamesh?"

"We have it, too," replied the Zohrloch. "Same scanning device as before, from the waveform analysis."

"Making repeated sweeps, Skipper," said Jolly. "Looks like it's trying to get a fix on us."

"Okay, we enter orbit in…four centons. You two, fly ahead, and sweep over the landing site. We'll enter the plotted orbit right behind you."

"Sir," replied the Zohrloch, moving ahead, Jolly following him. The site in question was just shy of local noon, and they passed over it, all scanners directed downwards. As expected, the scanner below began to track them, till they vanished over the horizon. As they came around the planet, the shuttle was just firing her braking thrusters, to slow for orbital insertion. They took up formation on either side of her, and slowed, the three craft at last settling into an orbit two-hundred kilometrons high.

With more sophisticated systems than those aboard the Vipers, Hummer began sweeping the planet with everything they had. After over a centar, he had some serious data.

_Disturbingly_ serious data.

"The planet checks out as almost perfect _Epsilon_-class, sirs," he reported. "So close to home you can taste it. Air, water, life-forms, all of it. But there's a problem."

"Always is," said Jensen.

"She's under increasing stress, sirs."

"Sign her up," quipped Starbuck, before asking, "What sort, Hummer?."

"Tectonic," replied Hummer. "Huge areas of the crust are inflating. That is to say swelling, from the increased pressure deep inside the crust. That's what's causing all the quakes and volcanoes the patrol scanned before. Some parts of the crust have already begun buckling."

"Any clue as to what's causing all that?" asked Apollo, turning to look at the planet out the ports.

"Yes, sir," said Hummer. "The Moon."

"The Moon?" said Starbuck.

"Yes. This planet has one large moon. A couple of others, but they're small, barely more than asteroids. This one…" he put a scan up on the shuttle's console, "is almost a quarter the diameter of the planet, and about twenty-six percent the mass."

"And?" asked Apollo.

"It's orbit is highly elliptical, sir," said Hummer. He explained. "And it can't have always been like that. This planet's shorelines and estuaries show evidence of long stability, and there is a detectable wobble in it's rotation that a large moon would tend to keep stable. Something has disturbed the Moon's orbit. Instead of relatively circular, it has shifted, into an almost cometary configuration, and it's slowly tearing the planet apart." Hummer switched to another image. It was of the planet, circled by it's moon. The planet was at one foci of the orbit, bringing the Moon dangerously close with each pass.

"How slowly?" asked Apollo.

"I'll need to run some more computations, sir, but I don't think this planet can last another sectar, sir. Provided the Moon doesn't shatter first."

"Shatter? Why would that happen?" asked Cassie.

"It's called Halleon's Limit,* ma'am. A large body, like this planet's moon, can only come so close, before the planet's gravity would rip it apart." He at once launched into one of his technobabble orgies, regaling them with gravity stresses, orbital dynamics, and a host of other arcane topics until Apollo held up a hand.

"Bottom line, please," he said to the other.

"Bottom line, sir. That planet is already experiencing massive high tides, quakes and volcanism on a scale unknown in the Colonies, and no doubt crazy weather. Since there is nothing that can be done to alter the Moon's orbit, before very much longer, according to computer projections, it will swing close enough, approximately 2.8 planetary radii, that the planet's gravity will cause it to begin breaking up. Scans already show that the Moon is having huge seismic events of it's own." He showed some close-in scans of the moon's surface. They could see avalanches, raising clouds of dust, and fractures in the crust widening as they watched. "It's only a matter of time."

"Then we have to rescue those people down there," said Cassie.

"Yes," said Apollo. As he looked out the ports, the Moon was just coming around the limb of the planet. "Hummer, how long till the Moon makes it's next close pass?"

"Four days, seventeen centars, sir. Estimated distance from the planet will be…" he stopped, to punch some numbers into his computator, "approximately sixty-thousand kilometrons. Sir."

"Holy frack," muttered Starbuck.

"You said it," said Apollo. "Alright, we'll be over the campsite in…twenty-four centons. "We'll try and open communications, then."

"Right," said Starbuck.

"You see them?"

"Yeah, I did." He handed her a weapon. "I hope to God you won't need it, baby."

"Me, too, Pop," she said, checking the chamber. She slammed the bolt home with a loud thunk. "Me too."

"That will be _most _exciting, if you find tangible clues to Earth!" Lydia was highly impressed by the information Adama had revealed to her, and the reasons for the mission.

"Unquestionably," the Commander said, always keeping his antenna alert for any sign of when the deference from Lydia would end and she would show her true colors But like Baltar, there was none of that.

For now.

"Commander?" Athena called over, which caused Adama to turn away from Lydia.

**"Yes?"**Adama turned.

"Low-band text message from shuttle probe, sir."

"And?"  
"They have entered orbit, and are preparing to attempt contact with the ship on the surface."

"Excellent, Athena. Acknowledge on the same channel."

"Yes, sir."

"As soon as they return, there should be a full briefing of this to the Council," Lydia said. "I think our new members will find this quite….exciting."

"I'm sure they all will, Siress Lydia, both the new members and the returning ones."

"Of course," she lightly tossed her head back which caused her elegant earrings to jangle. And for just a brief instant, Adama wondered if there was a faint air of….flirtation in Lydia's gesture. If that was the case, then he knew he was *really* going to have to be on his guard.

"I must say, Adama, this last sectar has brought out the best in you," the Council Vice-President went on. "That difficult matter with Sergeant Mattoon. Keeping the détente arrangement in order. It's almost as if the gods were rewarding you with this new breakthrough on Earth."

Adama glanced at her with a carefully neutral air. Although Lydia's Aerian background and upbringing made it natural for her to speak in polytheistic terms, he also knew that her devotion to her ancestral Aerian religion was, at best, superficial. Like so much of her. And yet, in order to maintain the current delicate status quo, he had no choice but to keep reciprocating her superficial flattery and politeness. Within reason.

"Any breakthrough in the search for Earth is a reward for us all, Siress Lydia," he said with just the right level of neutrality and politeness.

"Of course," the auburn-haired siress admitted, and then her eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Even for our new….allies as it were?"

Adama didn't know what to make of her comment. It was a very insightful question, of course, and if this probe indeed led to a major breakthrough, he knew it would be a major topic of discussion before the Council.

"I suppose that remains to be seen," he finally said, and he then discreetly moved away from Lydia, so he could look more closely at the readouts on Athena's

terminal. All the while filled with the realization that no matter how cautious he played things with Lydia, the potential still existed for him to underestimate her ability.

_Damn Lydia! Damn her and her needling meddling! As if Uri and Antipas hadn't been enough to drive a saint to curse!_

"I won't trouble you any more for now, Adama," she said disarmingly. "I'll be in VIP guest quarters if there's anything new to report."

_Thank the Lords_, Adama sighed with relief before bidding her a polite goodbye. He looked up, and saw Tigh watching him. Neither man said a word.

"So, what have we got, so far?" asked Apollo, after they had passed over the campsite. Or, rather, _crash_ site. From the high mag scans, it appeared that the ship hadn't touched down gently. A long furrow, now overgrown with plant life, extended behind it for nearly a hundred and fifty metrons. The ship itself was slightly askew from the furrow, telling Apollo that it had been quite a ride.

"A ship," began Hummer, "approximately thirty-one point six metrons in length, with a mass of two-thousand and fifty-four tons. So far, we've read only some low-level electrical activity on board. Possibly a life-support system in operation, and I'm guessing a solar-based power supply. The infra-red signature looks like a fire of some kind. Possibly a cookstove or campfire, nearby. And I'm continuing to pick up periodic sweeps from some sort of scanning device. Waveform analysis shows that it's not nearly as sophisticated as what _we_ use, but still fairly capable. It keeps trying to lock on to us, but our basic ECM suite is up to the challenge. I am also picking up no sign of any voice or data transmissions."

"What about gamma frequency signals?" asked Apollo, recalling the still-mysterious signal picked up by the old equipment in the _Galactica_'s Celestial Dome.

"I have been monitoring those, sir. Nothing but dead air, so far."

"Keep those channels open," said Apollo.

"What about life-signs?" asked Starbuck. "I see what looks like trails or paths, around the ship."

"So far, only two, sir, as near as I can resolve. Both Human, as near as we can tell from this altitude."

"Gender?" asked Apollo.

"Can't be certain, sir, " replied the tech. "This planet's moon is wreaking all sorts of havoc below. It's also causing serious fluctuations in the planet's magnetic field, and that's causing interference on several bands across the scan spectrum."

"Can't you compensate?" asked Apollo.

"To a certain point, sir. But we've arrived at a time where one of this planet's suns seems to be entering a more active phase." Hummer put up another graphic for them, and dumped it to the Vipers outside as well. "It's causing massive aurorae on all the inner planets, as well as interfering with our scans of this one, sir. And it's only going to get worse."

"Then we'll just have to land," shrugged Starbuck. "But we intended to, anyway."

"Yes, sirs," replied Hummer. "But there's a problem."

"Great," groaned Cassie.

"What is it?" asked Apollo.

"With all the interference, once we're down on the surface, we'll be out of communications with the Fleet."

"Can't we just boost our transmitting power?" asked Jensen. "Punch through the interference that way?"

"Yes, we could. Leave a com-relay satellite in orbit, to remain in communications with the _Galactica,_" said Hummer. He started punching more numbers into his computator. "Yes, it'll work. But it will have to be low-band, text only. What we carry on shuttles isn't nearly as powerful as what they have aboard the _Galactica._"

"It'll have to do, then," said Apollo. He turned to the commboard. "Jolly? Sargamesh? You guys catch all that?"

Both pilots replied in the positive.

"Orders, sir?" asked Sargamesh.

"Well, if we're going to be incommunicado for a while, I want Commander Adama to have a full picture of what the situation is. Sargamesh, head back to the Fleet, and let them know. This system is clear of threats."

"Yes, sir," replied the pilot. Apollo opened his mouth to speak to Jolly, but Sargamesh came back. "Sir, I have a problem, here."

"Yes?"

"I have a malfunction indicated on my fuel dump valve. I am losing fuel, rapidly."

"Can you shut it?"

"No, sir. It is still leaking."

"Jolly?"

"Maneuvering alongside him, Skipper." Jolly did so, and flipped on his searchlights. Sure enough, fuel was running from a valve on the left side of the ship, under the wing, freezing into lumpy blobs as it hit the cold of space. "Oh yeah. He's leaking like a busted tankard, Skipper."

"Sargamesh, what's your fuel situation?" asked Starbuck.

"Down to just under two-hundred, left tank. The other cells read as nominal, sir." He dumped his telemetry to the shuttle's board.

"No way he can make it back, that way," said Jensen.

"Yeah," said Apollo, looking at the readout of the Viper's fuel situation. "At this rate, he'll have a dry cell in under a centon. Sargamesh, try the manual handle."

"Sir." Sargamesh reached under his seat, yanking at the dump valve emergency handle. It was sticky, and even for one of his strength, hard to budge. He pulled hard, and slowly…

_Clunk!_

"Valve shut, sir," reported Sargamesh, "but the handle came off in my hand.

"The leak's stopped," said Jolly.

"But he's got almost no fuel left in that cell," said Apollo. "Frack! Okay, Sargamesh, how's the rest of your ship?"

"Assessing, sir," said the Zohrloch. He ran through the diagnostics. "Aside from the fuel valve, which still reads as open, everything is nominal."

"Okay, I guess you're staying with us," said Apollo. "Set your ship down, near the crash site below. Keep the telemetry open."

"Sir," replied Sargamesh, and began preparing for landing.

"Jolly, you follow him down. Just in case of any more malfunctions."

"On his wake, sir," said Jolly. Out the shuttle ports, they watched as Sargamesh's ship moved away from them, Jolly following him.

"That's weird," said Starbuck. "That valve going _phfft._"

"Well, machines go wrong," sighed Apollo. "Usually at the worst time. Okay, Hummer, get that relay satellite ready."

"Yes, sir," said the other, heading aft.

"Okay, Starbuck, let's hail them. All channels open."

"All channels open."

* The Colonial equivalent for _Roche's Limit. _This is the smallest distance that a fluid satellite can orbit from the center of a planet without being torn apart by tidal forces. For a satellite of negligible mass, zero tensile strength, and the same mean density as its primary, in a circular orbit around its primary, this critical distance is 2.44 times the radius of the primary. (For the Moon, whose density is lower than that of Earth, the Roche limit would be 2.9 Earth radii.) In practice, since moons tend to be solid, the tensile force of the rock and ice of which they are composed helps prevent their breakup. Even so, the shattering of satellites in orbits well inside the Roche limit may explain the origin of some planetary ring systems. The limit is named after the French mathematician Édouard Roche (1820-1883) who first described the theory behind it. For Earth, this limit would be approximately 10,200 miles. (16,470 km, for you more challenged folks  )

.org/wiki/Roche_limit

.

.com/Roche's+limit

_**Chapter Four**_

Despite the trouble with his ship's fuel system, Sargamesh had to admit he didn't mind having to put down on the planet. Partly because he, unlike most Zohrlochs, enjoyed experiencing new and different alien environments, and partly (mostly!) because he hated the idea of having to go back, and not be a part of the mission. Yes, that had been the order, and a Warrior _always _obeys orders, but secretly, he welcomed this twist of fortune. Perhaps Azgul, or these Lords of Kobol, were granting him his secret wish?

_Ah, the ways of the gods! Who can ever divine them?_

The planet was, even for someone from a harsh desert world, beautiful. Vast expanses of water, blue as the skies of home! Birds so numerous they blocked out the sun! Forests, grasslands, mountains that pierced the sky with daggers of ice! Gods above and below! What a wondrous place!

As he flew over prairies and valleys, he followed the scanner coordinates, towards the site of the mysterious ship. Aside from the fuel malfunction, the ship functioned perfectly coming in, and he hoped for no more surprises.

"Coming up on the coordinates," said Jolly, over the commcircuit. "Near a volcano. Pretty active, too."

"Yes. We shall pass over the crater in…two centons precisely."

"How's your bird?"

"So far, so good, Jolly."

"Well, once we're down, we can transfer some fuel from the shuttle's reserve cell. Or just wait until the _Galactica _gets here. Provided the planet lets us."

"Either will do, Jolly." He looked down at his instruments. "We are here."

"Pop. Pop, come in."

"_I read ya, kid_," crackled her communicator. "_You in position_?"

"I am. I think I heard something."

"_Yeah, me too. That was an engine. Okay, better stay off the line, in case they have ears._"

"Okay. Be cool, Pop."

"_You too, hon. Keep your head down_."

"Ten Four."

Sargamesh set her down in a field of fading wildflowers, with a noisy stream running through it. He went almost religiously through his post-flight, wary of any more malfunctions. Then, setting his low-gain transponder on automatic, he popped the canopy.

The air of this world smelled…_wonderful! _So unlike the endlessly recycled gases aboard a ship. He removed his helmet, and slowly made his way down to the ground. The flowers and the other scents upon the wind were strange and alien to him, but he found them intriguing, nonetheless. He turned, as Jolly brought his ship in, setting down a stones throw from his own Viper. Within a centon, the two had joined up, and were surveying their surroundings.

"Man, it's just like…like _home,_" said Jolly. He looked up into the sky, where the twin suns hung in an azure vault. "Even two suns, just like Caprica."

"We only have a single sun, for Eridu. But it is much hotter than this, I can tell you."

"Pretty bad?"

"Bad? No." The Zohrloch scoffed gently. "But imagine the heat of the desert dome on your Agro Ship, turned up to maximum, and then some."

"Wow. Sounds brutal."

"Invigorating, Jolly! _Invigorating_! And beautiful."

"_Melting _is invigorating? Anyone ever tell you that you have a very unique perspective?" Jolly asked.  
"Since joining the Colonial Fleet, yes." Sargamesh took his scanner out, and began sweeping the area. He jerked a thumb upwards. "Anything from above?"

"Yeah. Apollo said they were just entering the atmosphere as I set down."

"Excellent," said the Zohrloch. "The ship is…approximately eight-hundred thirty-six point oh four metrons that way." He pointed up the valley. Both men's eyes followed the gentle upward slope of the valley, till they fixed on the massive volcano, many kilometrons away. They could clearly see the cloud of steam and ash, billowing from its crater. A fine layer of ash coated some of the rocks and plants about them.

"Life signs?" asked Jolly, opening his own scanner. "Sentient, I mean?"

"Yes. About halfway between here and the ship." He indicated with a slight inclination of the head. "In that stand of trees."

"I see them. Human. Male."

"And the other one, across the valley."

"I don't see…"

"Nor do I."

"Then…"

"I smell her."

"You smell…_her_." He paused. "A woman? But how…"

"It is a gift," smiled the other, and they slowly began the trek up the valley, after sealing their cockpits. After about a centon or so, the commlink beeped. Apollo and the shuttle would be there, in about twenty centons.

"Okay," said Jolly, "let's try and make…"

_Crackkkkkk!_

"What the Lords was that?" said Jolly, as a sharp noise, like an explosion, rent the air. Something tore up a chunk of dirt in front of him.

"_Don't move!" _said a voice, loud and booming across the landscape.

"It was…" began Sargamesh, turning to his companion, when there was a rapid succession of sounds: _bangbangbang…_ followed by numerous bursts of stone and dirt just in front of them

"I think he wants us to not move," said Jolly.

"Good call," said Sargamesh.

"I said _don't move_! Hands in the air! NOW!" came the voice. Both pilots complied, and then, slowly, a figure emerged from behind a large tree. It was apparently Human, and carried a weapon of some sort. A big one.

"Now what?" asked Jolly.

"I have no idea. This is his party."

A half centar had passed with no further updates, and Adama decided to give himself some respite for the next few centars before returning to the Bridge. When he reached his quarters though, he found an unexpected guest standing just outside the hatch.

"Boxey?" Adama saw his grandson looking lost and forlorn. His beloved daggit Muffit was behind him, and seemed equally subdued as if empathizing with his master. "Shouldn't you be in your cabin?"

"I had a bad dream," said the youngster, looking up at the Commander. "I didn't want to be alone**.** Dad's away on a mission, and Mommy's working."

_A mission I sent him on! Why didn't I even think to break it to you, or have one of them do so? Have I become too absorbed to even remember the needs of one small boy? _

"Want to tell me about it?" said Adama.

"It was Dad. I saw him falling."

"Falling?"

"Into rocks. All around him were big rocks, and smoke and stuff. And he couldn't get out." It was clear the boy had been disturbed by the dream, from his tear-stained face. "When will he be back, Grandpa?"

"I'm not sure," said Adama, squatting down to meet Boxey on a level. "He's on a very important mission."

"I know," said a glum Boxey. "He told me." _Thank the Lords! _thought Adama. "But I'm afraid for him. I don't like it when he goes away like that. I'm afraid he won't come back. Just like…" He choked it off, squeezing back another tear. Adama recognized _that_ look. Boxey did not often mention Serina, certainly not since Apollo's remarriage, yet from time to time, the memory of her brutal murder at the hands of the Cylons, and watching her die, came to the fore, like a vicious bully, to torment him. Normally, either Apollo or Sheba were at hand to counsel, soothe, and console, but not this evening. Apollo was on the mission, Sheba was busy debriefing some new cadets after their first time in a Viper. So, the boy had done the logical thing.

He'd sought out Adama.

"You know, I was like that, once," said Adama, opening the door, and ushering Boxey into his quarters.

"You were?"

"Oh yes. When I was no bigger than you, I would get very sad, and afraid sometimes, when _my_ father had to go away on missions. Far across space, to unknown planets."

"Did you . . . " he looked down, ashamed, "cry?"

"Some," admitted Adama. "I would be afraid, and miss him, and when it was really bad, _my _grandfather would come in, and talk to me."

"That must have been good," said Boxey, as they headed towards the inner chamber. "Having them all around."

"Oh, it was," said Adama. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Boxey settled on his lap. "He'd been a Warrior too, you know. Long before I was ever born. And when I was afraid for my father, being away fighting, grandfather would come into my room, and talk to me, and calm my fears." He looked down at the child so like what _he _once had been, and smiled, remembering when his own father had done much the same as now, for a small and frightened Apollo, Athena, and in his time, Zac.

_Oh, Zac! Zac, I am so sorry…_

"And it all made you feel better?"

Adama leaned back against the headboard, getting comfortable. "Yes. Yes, it did. And when the day would come, and my father finally came home, I would feel so much better." He looked at the chrono, glad that he'd scheduled this respite and that he wouldn't be needed on the Bridge again for at least another two centars, and the Council was far, far away.

"What kind of things did your grandfather talk to you about?" asked Boxey, leaning back into his grandfather's embrace.

Adama smoothed Boxey's hair back from his forehead. "Heroic stories, of when he'd been a young Warrior. Tales about his childhood, or the stories of ancient days." He looked across the room, to where Muffit sat, silent and waiting. "Would you like to hear one?"

"Sure," said Boxey, yawning. He rubbed his eyes. "Tell me one."

Muffit slowly turned one ear his way.

"Well, once, long ago, the Battlestar _Acropolis _came to the beautiful world of Delos. It was a wonderful world, filled with fabulous cities, jeweled mountains that soared tall, and a people who, like us, feared the Cylons. Her Master was Commander Pericles. Now, Commander Pericles …"

He looked down, at a sudden sound. Boxey was asleep.

_Oh Boxey, you will never know how I envy you. Would that I could trade with you, even for one day!_

Quietly, signaling to Muffit to remain silent, Adama slipped away, and left Boxey to his slumber.

Both Colonial Warriors watched, as the figure came fully into view. Out from cover into the sunlight, moving towards them. He lifted some sort of device to his face, and within moments, another figure emerged, from behind a big rock on the opposite side of the valley. Also armed, though with something smaller, this one moved in on them as well. As soon as the second was fully visible, Sargamesh noticed…

"A girl," said Jolly.

"So I observe," said Sargamesh, drolly.

They stood stock still, as ordered, as both figures approached. The first was a bearded man, with long shaggy hair, tied behind his head with some sort of first reaction Jolly had was that Apollo had quite a ways to go, before the sartorial addition he'd sported the last few sectons could match this. About Jolly's height, the man was however thin and wiry, pale-looking, and his clothes, once some sort of flight-suit, were now tattered and patched, sleeveless, with leggings made from what looked like animal fur, and boots of crudely sewn leather. He had a pronounced limp as he walked. The girl was attired similarly, her clothes even more ill-fitting, and made from the same materials. The man drew even with them, staring at them intently, grip never loosening on his weapon. After a moment, Jolly recognized it: he'd seen something like it in a museon once. A long metal barrel, fitted to a grip, and sporting some kind of long belt of ammunition feeding into it. It was a chemically-powered slug-thrower. At close range, it could turn a person into lunch meat. Primitive, but very effective.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?" asked, no, _demanded _the man, after giving them both a hard look. His glare moved from Jolly to Sargamesh, and it was clear to both Warriors that the fellow had never seen the likes of the Zohrloch before. "Where the shit do _you _come from? The Sea of Green?" Both Warriors had to wait for the Languatrons they carried strapped to their legs to render the alien words. Sadly, there were gaps. Sargamesh reached for his, but the man shoved the muzzle of his weapon in his face.

"I…" began Jolly.

"I asked you a question, buster!" said the man. Again, more gently this time, Sargamesh indicated the device. With a grunt, the older man grasped it, pulling it from the other's leg, along with their sidearms. He seemed to study them all for a moment. As he did so, the other arrived.

She was nearly as tall as the man, and looked to Jolly to be about sixteen or seventeen, in Colonial terms. Black-haired and hazel-eyed, she was obviously the child of the man, and if it hadn't been for the weapon she pointed at him, not to mention her filthy appearance, he might have found her attractive.

"Whatcha got there, Pop?" she asked.

"Not sure, hon. Guns of some sort. And I think this translates languages."

"It does," said Sargamesh. He let the device do its work.

"Yeah," said the girl, looking it over more closely. "I wonder what it knows."

"Good question," said her father. "Okay, now I want to know, who are you guys, and what the hell are you doing here?"

"We're here looking for you," said Jolly. "Uh, can we put our hands down?"

"No," said the girl, and the way she held her own weapon told him she meant it. "What do you mean, _looking for us_?"

"Just that," said Sargamesh, finding it a bit hard to ignore the girl's presence. There was an intensity in those eyes…

"Meaning?" asked the old man.

"Meaning we came, looking for you."

"And why would you be looking for _me_?" asked the man.

"It's them again, Pop," said the girl, agitated, bouncing from one foot to the other, her scowl angry. "It's gotta be. Them again!"

"They didn't wear duds like these, hon. And none of 'em was _blue._"

"Still…"

She was interrupted by a voice, coming from the communicator still on each man's belt. It was Apollo, and he was one centon from touchdown.

"More of 'em!" said the girl, when the sound of the shuttle engine was heard. Both pilots turned, and saw the shuttle emerge from a cloud, heading straight for the meadow. "Yeah, I knew it! More of 'em, Pop. Like last time, come to finish us…" She gripped her own weapon, smaller and with no ammo belt, her knuckles going white.

"We come in peace, madam. Sir," said Sargamesh. "Upon my honor. And we bring a message."

"A message? What kind of message?"

"From someone known to you, once."

"Known to _me_? Who, by God?"

"Ozko Bolzakian," replied the Zohrloch. "He says 'hello'."

"Ozk…" The fellow was clearly taken off guard by the name. "Ozko? How the hell do you know about Ozko? What…"

"We also seek knowledge of the planet Earth."

The man's face froze.

_**Chapter Five**_

After leaving Boxey fast asleep in his quarters, and replying to messages from Sire Pelias and Siress Tinia re the late Council meeting, Adama decided to end his respite and return to the Bridge. First, he made certain to stop by Flight Operations where Sheba was finishing her debriefing of the Warrior trainees she was responsible for, and let his daughter-in-law know where Boxey was. The last thing he would have wanted was for her to come back to her quarters and go into an unnecessary panic. His exchanges with her were perfunctory, since she still had a lot of work to do, so he allowed his friendly expression and tone to be his silent way of assuring her that all was well with Apollo's mission. By the time he'd left, it was already clear to Adama that Sheba had gotten the message.

_She really knows how to juggle the responsibilities of family and career_, he thought as he made his way back to the Bridge. He wasn't sure if that could be said of many other Warriors.

When he returned to the Bridge, the first thing he saw was the uneasy expression on both Athena and Tigh, as they came u p to meet him.

"Anything happen?"

"It's not good," Tigh said with an edge of grimness, "We've lost contact with the shuttle probe."

"Lost contact? How long ago?"

"Four centons," his daughter spoke up, "I've been trying to re-acquire, but---." she shrugged with an air of frustration.

"Keep trying, Athena." he said. "Colonel, please join me on the upper level."

"Yes, sir." The Executive Officer followed Adama up to the command level, while Athena went back to her station to resume monitoring the situation.

"Well," Adama tried not to sound worried, but he knew it was disconcerting. "That doesn't bode well."

"Hopefully it's just temporary interference," Tigh said, "Everything else was normal up to that point."

"Hopefully you're right," Adama nodded and then sighed, "I'm glad Lydia chose to take her respite now. I wouldn't have wanted her to be up here now at a point where there might be trouble."

"Meaning she might start to take her job as Vice-President more seriously?" Tigh gently inquired.

"Possibly," he said, "I'm almost going out of my mind waiting for her to make her first suggestion that she'd _know_ I'd reject out of hand. That will be the signal that she's trying to make her first step toward a power grab. But as long as she stays so deferential, I have to be deferential to her."

"Then that means you'll have to notify her about this if the probe stays out of contact indefinitely," Tigh pointed out. "She wouldn't appreciate being kept in the dark."

"No," he admitted, "We'll….give it a centar at least, and if it reaches that point where there's no further contact, then we'll have to take a precautionary approach to this, and that will necessitate notifying her. So," he sighed, "For now let's hope things clear up and get back on track beforehand."

The shuttle touched down about twenty-five metrons from the Vipers, kicking up a lot of dust doing so. They all waited while she settled down, Sargamesh all the while debating whether he should attempt to disarm the older Human. He decided against it, for the moment. While it was…_humbling _to admit it, the young woman, similarly armed, was too far away to assure disarming her, as well. While he could predict his own actions, and the likely ones of his colleagues, _hers _were not within his ken.

_How the gods laugh at us!_

Apollo stepped from the open hatch, to see his people seemingly held hostage. He held still a moment, trying to take the situation in. The older man with the odd weapon spoke, but his Languatron gave only gibberish at first. He spoke again, as did a young woman nearby, and words he could recognize began to spill from the unit.

"Come on, Starbuck," he said over his shoulder.

"What have we got?"

"Not sure. Possible hostage situation." He looked at the weapon the man held. He was sure he'd seen something like it, and recently. Where…

"Less chatter, more action!" said the girl.

"Sounds like your type," quipped Apollo.

"Funny," replied Starbuck. "Looks like the old guy shares your hatred of shaving, so maybe you can bond with him on that."

His friend's parry helped defuse what lingering tension might have remained in Apollo as he le d the shuttle crew out, with Hummer switching the beacon on before debarking.

The shuttle crew filed out, Hummer of course switching the beacon on before debarking. Out in the field, Apollo took it all in. While he had asked Ozko to describe members of the Earth crew he had met, the Calcoryan's sense of proportion and esthetics was so different, what he said made little detailed sense. However, the man Apollo now saw certainly seemed to fit the general image, albeit an older version.

"Okay, who the hell are you? Jena, go get their weapons." The girl did so, no one for the present willing to test the fellow's reaction time, or aim, with the ancient firearm.

"I am Captain Apollo, Strike Commander of the Battlestar _Galactica,_" replied Apollo.

"Yeah, and I'm Barack Obama," said the man, with a sneer. "And this is Hillary Clinton. Jen?"

"That's all, Pop." She moved back towards her father, and handed him the weapons belts.

"Not a bad day," he said to her. "Everybody's giving me guns." He turned back to the Colonials. "Now give it to me straight, bub. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"I'm Lieutenant Starbuck, of…"

He stopped, dumbfounded. For some bizarre reason, the other man was…

_Laughing!_

"Low-power relay signal coming in now," said Athena, to Adama. He leaned close to look at her board. "It just kicked in, sir."

"No responses?"

"None. I have hailed."

"Keep me posted."

"Looks like you're off the hook as far as worrying about Lydia goes," Tigh noted.

"For today at least," the Commander emphasized. There's always tomorrow."

_And the next cycle, and the one after that, and the secton after that….._

The climb back up to the crash site, after the locals had looked the shuttle over minutely, was surprisingly tough, as they waded through native grasses and over uneven ground, following a stream. Their "host", they noted, limped as they went, partly dragging his right leg as he walked. As they walked, the Colonials in the middle, the others one on each side, the ground shook once more, and the volcano in the far distance renewed its belching of smoke and ash.

"Doesn't look good," said Jolly, squinting up at the fulminating peak.

"No, it doesn't," said the man. "Now, who are you again? Happy?"

"_Jolly,_" replied Jolly, trying not to sound indignant. "Jolly is a _name_." He cast a scowl at the Languatron.

"And I am Lieutenant Sargamesh kor Tog, of the Colonial Fleet."

"Never heard a name like that before," said the girl. "Sounds like a bowl of soup with gears in it."

"Well, as you can plainly see, I am not Human," said the Zohrloch, trying to ignore the quip.

"Well, _we_ are," said Starbuck.

"You better hope to hell you are, _Mocha Boy. _I'm Captain Kevin J. Byrne, of the United States Navy, currently in command of what's left of the U.S. spacecraft _U.S.S. Saint Brendan. _And this is my daughter, Genesis." He indicated the girl.

"Kevinjayburn?" asked Starbuck. Sagan's sake, it was a weird name. Did all Earth names have that many syallables?

"Yeah," replied the other. "You got a problem with it, _Drip Grind_?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Problem? No, no. No problem," smiled Starbuck, disarmingly. "Just fine, in fact, it's a nice name. If it were up to me, wouldn't change it."

"I would hope not. At least _I'm_ not named for a cup of coffee. Now, where in hell did you…folks fetch up with Ozko Bolzakian?"

They continued to talk, as they climbed, the girl always positioned behind, her unwavering eye alert for any sudden movement. After about a half-centar, they finally saw it.

"Holy frack!" said Hummer, as the downed spacecraft came into view.

"Hey!" said Byrne, scowling at the technician. "You watch your mouth in front of my daughter!"  
"Oh, Pop…"

"I…"

"Just watch it," repeated Byrne, and Hummer wondered just what the Languatron had spit out. But his wonderment quickly returned to the ship before them.

"This is…incredible!" said Jensen, unable to take his eyes off the craft. "She looks like an early Sixth Millennium type, sir," he said, to Apollo.

"A what?" asked the girl.

"Sixth Millennium," repeated Jensen. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's a Colonial term. I mean she looks like something our people used to fly, maybe a…what?" He looked to Starbuck. "A thousand yahren ago? Maybe more?"

"Something like it," replied the blond Warrior. "Certainly Pre-Unification."

"Does it have light-speed drive?" asked Hummer.

"Hell, no," said Byrne. "She doesn't even have a Coke machine. Now come on. And don't try anything."

They were led towards a small shelter, built out of pieces of sheet metal and some tree branches, about twenty metrons from the ship. Although somewhat cramped, they all managed to fit inside, and Byrne sat them down. Jena tossed some wood on the smoldering fire in the center, and Byrne spoke, his weapon laid across his lap. Once more, he demanded to know who they were, and what they were doing here. The suspicion and distrust, especially in the girl, were plain to see, especially for Sargamesh. It quickly became clear that the two had expected them to be someone else, and perhaps remained unconvinced that they were not.

"And you crashed here how long ago?"

"Almost twenty-five years ago, by local time," said Byrne. "On Earth, that'd be about…" he stopped, figuring.

"Seventeen years, and four months," finished his daughter. She grinned at him, and he shook his head.

"Well, you obviously expected someone else," said Cassie.

"Oh yeah," said Byrne. "You aren't the first visitors we've had."

"I take it the last were not welcome," said Sargamesh.

"You might put it that way," said Byrne, voice getting a bit brittle. He was quiet for a moment, tossing back a drink from a small canteen. "Anyway, we've learned to be cautious about strangers." He cast a long and uncertain look at Sargamesh again, and then looked to Apollo. "So, again. Why are you here? And how does that overgrown artichoke Ozko Bolzakian figure into it all?"

"We're looking for a world called Earth," said Apollo. "We encountered Ozko at a Zykonian space station, and after a while, he mentioned you. By name, in fact, Commander Byrne."

"Zykonian?" said Byrne, voice getting more brittle. His fingers tightened on the weapon slightly. "Just what the hell do _you_ know about the Zykonians?"

"Those those lizard-headed guys, Pop!"

"Yeah, Jen. So, tell me," said Byrne. More like _ordered._

Apollo did so, telling of their layover at Brylon V, for desperately-needed repairs to the _Galactica,_ as well as several other ships in the Colonial Fleet. How Apollo had encountered, in the station's most popular bar, a creature called Ozko Bolzakian, and after some time, they had come to learn of his encounter, many yahrens before, with Humans from Earth, on a Zykonian outpost called Krylamic.

"Outpost?" said Byrne, with a derisive snort. "More like Adak on a bad day! We barely made it out of there in one piece. At least the _Saint Brendan_ did. I…" He stopped, obviously remembering something painful.

"The second ship?" asked Apollo.

"Yeah. The _Cabrillo. _We got separated, after we blasted out of that dump. Haven't heard from her since."

"Why did you feel the need to escape?" asked Cassie. Byrne turned to look at her. For a moment, the look in his eye was obvious, then quickly gone. "The Zykonians were nothing but civilized towards us."

"I guess it depends on your definition of 'civilized', madam." said Byrne, crisply. "Did they subject you to medical experiments? Did they decide to intern you in some sort of prison camp? Did they accuse you of being spies?" He looked at her a long moment, and they could all see the rage beneath the surface. "No, I can see they didn't. Lucky you." He reached over, and refilled his daughter's cup.

Cassie glanced at Starbuck, who _had _done hard time in the Zykonian _Katorrgah_. He shook his head slightly.

"I take it your experiences with the Zykonians weren't pleasant," said Apollo.

"About as pleasant as a procto exam with an Earthprobe driller! Yeah, you could say that, Captain."

"Well, we're not here representing the Zykonians, or anyone else. Just ourselves," said Starbuck. "We just want information. That's all."

"That's what _they_ said," muttered Jena.

"Excuse me?" asked Cassie.

"The last visitors said the same thing. Back when there were more of us!"

"Jena," said Byrne.

"And now it's just me and my dad, trying to fix a cracked-up ship that may never fly again, all because some folks came calling, saying they meant no harm." She smiled cynically, and it was acid.

"Pirates?" asked Hummer.

"That'd be my guess," said Byrne.

"And when was this?" asked Jolly.

"Over ten years ago, Earth time. They landed in some kind of ship we'd never seen before. A whole damned zoo of creatures they were. Human-looking, things we'd never seen before, and at least two were Zykonian. God-damned fu…"

"What did they do?" asked Apollo, trying to both calm the man, and keep the discussion on track.

"They killed the rest of us!" spat Jena. "I was only two or so, but I can remember it like it was yesterday. The way they took mama. They drug her off, and…" With a plaintive cry, she shot out of her seat, and left the shelter.

"I'm sorry to have…" said Apollo, indicating the retreating girl.

"Yeah," Byrne replied. "She was in the woods when they came. No kid should ever have to witness something like that. She still blames herself for not saving her mother, despite her age. They realized we didn't have anything they wanted, or whatever, and so they decided on…well, I'm sure you get the picture. I killed one of them, then the lights went out. Next thing I knew, it was just Jen and me." For a moment, they could see a tear in one eye. An angry tear. Byrne doubled a fist, let out a slow, forced breath, and gave himself a barely perceptible shake.

"I can see why you were suspicious of us," said Jolly.

"And still am," said Byrne. "But your ships and your clothes look nothing like theirs. Uniforms, like some kind of regular military. Even yours," he said, indicating Cassie's medical uniform, and Hummer's technical section outfit. "And I may not be from your 'Sixth Millennium' or whatever, but I know a fighter plane when I see one."

"You were a fighter pilot?" asked Starbuck.

"Back in the day," said Byrne. He chuckled mirthlessly. "Naval aviator. I flew F-18s off the _Constellation. _When they decommissioned the old girl, I opted for the space program." He chuckled again. "Should have left well enough alone. I'd be home in my own living room, pulling down some obscenely fabulous salary from a defense contractor, with anti-war types lobbing tomatoes at my windows, not stuck out here, God knows how far from home." He took another drink. "So, yeah. You guys," he indicated Jolly and Sargamesh, "are fighter jocks. And you too," he added, to Starbuck. "I know the type when I see one."

Cassie couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, we are from a regular military," said Apollo. "From the military of the Twelve Worlds of Man. We have flown here from the Battlestar _Galactica. _We're searching for a world called Earth."

"Yeah, so you said, only this ain't Earth." replied Byrne, looking towards the door. He stood up. "Back in a minute. Don't touch anything."

"Sir?" said Sargamesh, turning to Apollo.

"I don't know. Something doesn't feel right, here."

"Lords, he's rude," said Jolly. "Both of them."

"He's been alone with her for yahrens," said Cassie. "No wonder they have the social graces of a bovine."

"At least we could _eat_ the bovine," Jolly returned. Jensen looked at Jolly's waistline, but said nothing.

"Good point. But whatever it is, Apollo, we have a deadline," said Starbuck. "Get what information we can, and get back to the Fleet, before this planet gets blasted to dust."

As if to punctuate his words, the ground began to shake yet again.

Stronger than before.

After a few centons, Byrne returned, daughter in tow. After a few words, she headed towards the downed ship. Byrne himself, though seemingly more relaxed now, still carried a weapon in his belt, a pistol of some sort, and was never without his rifle.

Hummer, of course was intensely interested in the ship herself, and asked a lot of questions. Instead of irritating him, it seemed to amuse Byrne somewhat, and he began to hold forth about the old vessel.

"Yup, she was unique. Well, almost. Only two of 'em were built, at least so far as we knew. Now…" He shrugged. "She was built on an old SR-71 airframe, and most of the development took place at Area 51." The Colonials looked blank. "Sorry. I forget sometimes. You'll appreciate that I don't get too many guests."

"What sort of propulsion system does it utilize?" asked Hummer, looking at the engine nacelles.

"Three-tiered. We took off using standard rocket power. Once in space, we switched over to a quantum nucleonic drive. That was sort of our back-up system. Later, between planets, we engaged a newly developed anti-matter system. More than three times the speed of any previous engine. Or so they said."

"You have anti-matter aboard?" asked Sargamesh, intrigued. His people used anti-matter as a propulsion system almost exclusively in their interstellar craft.

"No. It's way too dangerous to store aboard a ship. Too bulky and expensive, too, all that extra equipment. It's made as we go."*

"As you go? Fascinating," said Hummer, shaking his head. They had crossed the distance to the ship, and they could make out the letters: _St. Brendan_, on her bow, though they could not read them. As if to add to the mystery, the ship's name had been crossed through at some later point, and the equally mysterious words _Jupiter II _scrawled messily underneath. The bow itself was supported by a nose wheel, and surrounded by crude scaffolding made of hewn logs and rough planking. Ropes and chains were anchored to various parts of the ship, and they could all clearly see the area of the missing piece, which was now sitting in Wilker's lab, back aboard the _Galactica._ Work lights hung in various places

"Have you fabricated a new piece?" asked Starbuck, indicating the spot.

"Almost," said Byrne. "We took some damage coming into this system, as you can see."

"Yes, we know," said Jolly. Byrne turned to look at him. "We found a piece of debris when we scouted the system. It's back on the _Galactica._"

"You found it? Whaddya know?" He led them aft, and they got a good look at the whole ship. Her stubby wings held two huge engine pods, and her stern sported three smaller thruster bells. Above, on the tail…

"That's it!" said Starbuck, pointing.

"What is, _Café Ole_?"

"That symbol," said Starbuck, pointing to one of the emblems emblazoned on the ship's tail. The others followed his lead.

"Which one?" asked Byrne. There were several on the ship's rudder, all of different color combinations.

"That one," said Starbuck. "The one on the left. The one with the red stripes, and the blue square in the corner."

"That's the U.S. flag. My country. What about it?"

"Is that the one you saw on Proteus?" asked Apollo.

"Yeah. In my cell, along with all those charts on the walls. _That _was the emblem I saw along with them."

"You've seen my country's flag before?" asked Byrne, both intrigued and suspicious. "If you've never been to Earth…"

"No," said Starbuck. "This was on a long-forgotten prison colony we discovered. The Proteus System." He unfolded the tale to Byrne, who absorbed it in silence, clearly taken aback by it.

"And he never spoke? This man?"

"That's what they told me," replied Starbuck. "They called him 'The Silent One'. But we have some of his stuff."

"His _stuff_?"

"Apparently he left a journal of some kind, along with some data disks." Starbuck looked at Hummer.

"We have broken the data coding on the disks, as far as visual images go, but we can't crack the audio, as yet." He explained the disks found in the old ambrosia crate, along with the mysterious journal. "And the writing system, except for a few bits, still defies decipherment."

"So you've got a computer disk and a journal?" Byrne was clearly excited.

"Yeah," said Starbuck. He reached into his inner pocket. Byrne stiffened, but Starbuck abruptly held up his hands, nodding reassuringly, then took it slow and easy. He withdrew a small leatherette folder, and opened it, careful to keep it in Byrne's view. "This is in case you were from Earth."

"What is it?"

"It's a copy of some of the pages from the journal. Like Hummer said, we haven't been able to do a lot with it. The language and script are unlike anything we use. But we were hoping that if you were from Earth, you might be able to translate it." He handed the papers over to Byrne. The older man looked at them, then squinted. He sighed, sounding disgusted, and held the paper a bit further away. As he studied the document, his face showed a myriad of emotions, from curiosity to shock to…what?

"Holy shit!' he whispered. It was obvious that the mysterious script was no mystery to him. He read the first sheet, then went to the second. "Where's the rest? Is this all?"

"The rest is back on the _Galactica_," said Starbuck. "I just copied a few pages."

"So you _can_ read it," said Apollo.

"Yeah…yeah, I can read it." Byrne looked like he'd been punched in the gut. Apparently the shock of whatever the document contained had struck him hard.

"Can you tell us what it says?" asked Starbuck. Finally, the mystery that enfolded the Silent One would be solved . . .

"Uh…uh, yeah," began Byrne, but a voice called. His daughter, inside the ship. "Excuse me," he said. "Jen needs something. Come on inside."

"Apollo?"

"We do like he says, Starbuck. Let's go inside."

* "Billions of particles of anti-matter created in laboratory"

.

_**Chapter Six**_

The interior of the Earth vessel was a mess. After passing through the hatch/airlock, entered from underneath, they found themselves in a small chamber, with a ladder on one bulkhead. Climbing it, they came into what was obviously the control/flight deck. Consoles lined one bulkhead, under the forward ports, and other machinery was fitted to the other walls as well. The floor however was scattered with tools, lengths of wire and cable, various electronic and mechanical parts, as well as papers and other things they could not at once identify. Several vid screens were operating, although some were dark, and two were missing from their frames altogether, some stations looking almost gutted. Jena was bent over one console, its cover open, wires and circuits exposed.

"Well, we're out of spares," Byrne was saying to her. "It's just going to have to do, Jen."

"But we'll be limited in our frequency range," she replied. "We'll _need_ that circuit, Pop."

"Can't be helped, hon." He stopped, and looked back, seemingly having forgotten the newcomers.

"Is there a problem?" asked Hummer, looking around the cabin, then at the Byrne. All this machinery was getting to him.

"Uh, yeah," said Byrne. "Our communications gear. She failed years ago, and we're trying to repair it. The main frequency divider circuit is shot, and we're just about out of spare parts." Hummer moved closer, and peered into the unit. It was a mass of odd-looking pieces, with wires and jumpers going seemingly everywhere. That it worked at all was a semi-miracle.

"You fabricated this?" Hummer asked, indicating a large coil in the machine.

"Yeah, I did," said Jena, somewhat defensively. "And?"

"Great job," said Hummer. "In these circumstances." He looked up from the antique, to Byrne. "I could help, if you like."

"We haven't got time, Hummer," said Apollo. "Commander Byrne, we're here, basically, to evacuate you and your daughter. This planet's main moon is in a very dangerous orbit."

"No shit, Sherlock," drolled Byrne. Apollo furrowed his brow a moment, but ignored the comment for now.

"Our scans tell us that in less than four of your days, it will swing close again. The gravitational stresses are almost certainly going to rip the Moon apart."

"Are you sure?" said Byrne, with a glance at the equipment littering the ship.

"There's no question, sir," said Sargamesh, speaking before Hummer could, seeing the technician open his mouth to do so. "Our scans are quite precise. The Moon will begin to fragment, and most of the debris will impact this planet within centars."

"No one, and probably nothing, will survive," continued Hummer.

"I see. Talk about living on borrowed time," said Byrne. He looked around the ship, and let out a heavy sigh. "Well, I guess that's that. The warranty's expired, anyway." He tossed down a small tool. "I suppose you can evac us in your shuttle?"

"Yes, there's room, sir," said Apollo.

"Well, then I guess we get packing," he said to Jena. She moved a little closer to him, glancing at the Colonials distrustfully.

Apollo could appreciate her antipathy. After all, the last time strangers had come calling, she had lost her mother. He couldn't help but think of Boxey, his mother gunned down by a Cylon. Although the girl's exterior was as gritty as her father's, she had to be drowning in trepidation, and feeling a little like she was about to be flipped from the tylium pan into the fire.  
"Good. Cassie, why don't you help? I'm sure Jena must have some questions about the _Galactica_," suggested Apollo. Typically, the med tech understood in a heartbeat, smiling and immediately engaging the girl as they walked aft. Apollo had noticed Jena sneaking furtive glances at the attractive blonde, and gradually he realized Jena was older than he had first imagined. She had to be in her late teens, at least, but her slender figure had at first led him to believe she was pre-pubescent. _Too _slender, really. Of course, from all the signs, neither of them had been eating too well of late.  
Byrne watched them silently for a moment, studying the Colonial's faces. For a moment, he settled on Starbuck's. "Been a long time . . . just me and her, you understand."  
"How long _have_ you been here?"  
. "Seventeen years and four months, Earth time. I told you, remember?"

Apollo nodded, then turned to his men. "Sargamesh, you head back to the shuttle, and fly her up here."

"Sir!"

"Hummer, you go with him. Check on the comm-relay to the Fleet. See if we can punch through any signals."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir," added Sargamesh. Displeased at being paired with the "technician", he nonetheless schooled his face to impassivity. After all, orders were orders.

_And the gods were already laughing, anyway!_

The ground shook again, then was quiet once more.

_Uproariously!_

As they left, and the rest looked about the cabin, Byrne motioned to Starbuck. The Viper pilot moved over, and Byrne leaned close.

"Lieutenant, don't think I haven't noticed how you were looking at my daughter."

"Well, I…"

"Yeah. And hey, I used to be you. Been there, done that. Now, I know you probably know fifteen different ways to kill people barehanded, but…" he grinned coldly. "Don't even_ think_ about it. Capiche? She's off limits, or you can guess what I'll be using for cufflinks."

"I…"

"Good lad," said Byrne, patting him on the shoulder, and turning away.

"Actually, it's _six_teen," said Starbuck, quietly.

_**Chapter Seven**_

While Byrne and the were packing up, Sargamesh trudged down the valley, following the stream towards the shuttle, Hummer in tow. Again, he had to admit that the view was spectacular, unlike any he'd seen for a long time. Not since…oh, when was it? Yes, that layover in the Harad System, on Ethren, after the Battle of Yorgensalla. His ship had taken some battle damage, and needed a few days for repairs, so the Captain had given his men some well-earned shore-leave. Ethren had been a lot like this world; blue skies, silver rivers running across green valleys, cool rain breaking over distant mountains. Fabulously mineral-rich. He could understand the attraction of so rich a world.

So, of course, they had conquered it.

"It _is_ beautiful, isn't it?" said Hummer.  
Sargamesh just grunted in reply, annoyed at having his reverie interrupted by the technician. Try as he might, and truthfully he hadn't tried all that hard, he just couldn't rid himself of his prejudices regarding "mere" functionaries, like this one. Well, Azgul knew, they had their place, and that was fine with him.

If only they made fewer errors.

He was interrupted again by another tremor, this time almost losing his footing as the ground rippled under their feet. Hummer reached out to steady him, but he shook off the proffered hand. He did not need the assistance of…weaklings. He could see the shuttle and Vipers dead ahead, another hundred or so metrons down the valley, and quickened his pace.

"Here comes another one," announced Hummer, scanner in hand.

"Eh? A tremor?"

"Yeah," said the tech, and sure enough another one began. Sargamesh turned around, a roar filling his ears, and beheld the volcano, many maxims up the valley, belching fresh clouds of ash and steam, its roar rumbling across the land. "She looks to be a big one. Deep. Hold on!"

"To what?" asked the Zohrloch, seeing no trees or sizeable rocks about.

"How about your attitude," Hummer returned, a bit acerbically. "That should ground you."  
A moment later, both men fell to the ground, as the tremor shook everything. Sargamesh felt like he was being bounced on a giant knee, then it was still once more. He got to his feet, and without a glance back, resumed his journey.

"Thanks," muttered Hummer, irritably. He scowled at the back of the Zohrloch, before adding, "Anytime."

The shuttle had set down near a large tree, growing near the stream. Sargamesh was forced to grasp hold of it, when another tremor began, this one the strongest yet. Before he could do more than curse, the tree began to sway powerfully, as the seismic energy ripped through the ground, and began to topple. The roots were ripped from the ground, and the huge tree began to fall…

Straight on to the shuttle!

"_Gods, no!"_ he shouted, as the ground vanished from under his boots, and he felt himself flung up into the air, then down again. The whole world tumbled into a filthy, blinding whirlwind of madness, then something struck the side of his head, and he saw only blackness.

"That was the worst one yet," said Byrne, back aboard the _Saint Brendan._ While the ship seemed okay, they had been knocked about a good bit, Jolly and Jensen loosing their footing.

"Yeah, we don't have a lot of time," said Apollo. "Pretty soon, this whole planet's going to come apart."

"Well, as long as your ship can hold all our…"

_Beep._

"Yes?" answered Apollo.

"_Sir! It's me. Hummer. We've got a problem, here."_

Hummer was in a quandary. While he needed to rescue his comrade, he knew that he was no athlete. When the tree had toppled, it had opened a fair-sized pit, which had continued to widen, as the tremor continued. The Zohrloch had tumbled in, striking his head on one of the huge roots, and now lay astride some of them, down in the hole.

A hole that was getting bigger by the centon. Crumbling soil and water from the rising stream was widening it by the moment. If he…

"Sagan's socks, you only die once," he declared aloud, and climbed up on the huge trunk. Crawling out as far as he dared, he grabbed ahold of one of Sargamesh's hands. He tried to get a picture of the fellow's condition. It didn't look all that good. His face was smeared with blood, and he didn't respond to anything. "Okay Lords, just keep things quiet till I…" he said between gritted teeth, trying to get a firmer hold on the other.

There was another tremor, then stillness.

"Thanks. Just thanks!" he hollered skywards.

_Rumble......_

He got a hold of the other's arm, and began yanking on his burly mass, trying to budge the big guy. He couldn't be sure that the arm wasn't broken, or that Sargamesh did not have internal injuries, but in light of the fact that he could be swallowed alive, it didn't much matter either. No, there wasn't a lot of choice. Until the others got here, it was up to him.

"Holy frack and a half! You're one heavy daggit's dowry!" He got a hand under the pilot's shoulder, and Sargamesh hissed loudly, coming to.

"_Epet? Anaku_…" *  
The Zohrloch began to struggle, an innate reaction of a warrior in pain. Hummer blinked against the stars that suddenly affected his vision, barely realizing he'd been sucker punched. No, Sargamesh's arm probably wasn't broken, after all . . . but Hummer would lay odds that _his_ nosewas.

"Stop it, damn it! I'm rescuing you!" barked the technician, clinging to the trunk as the Zohrloch tried to unseat him. Abruptly, Sargamesh stopped wrestling with him. "The tree uprooted, taking you with it," he explained. The Zohrloch looked at him, unfocused and befuddled. His head had to be still ringing from the blow. With some movement on Sargamesh's side, Hummer got his whole arm under the Warrior's shoulder, and began creeping back along the trunk. It shook, unsteady in the mud, and he kept telling himself not to look down into the hole beneath.

_Move along the tree, don't look down. Don't look down, keep your eyes on making it to him. Don't look down! Don't look… _

_You looked down!_

"Bur…The tree," said Sargamesh, thickly. "It is…"

"Gonna fall? No mong, Megabrain! We're almost there!" He looked back, and the tree looked even more precarious, slipping further and further off-center, and the aftershocks came and went. If he didn't make it in the next few centons…

"Perhaps…"

"Look, I know what I'm doing. I rescued my mom's feline from a tree once. Now…" Suddenly, the mud slathering the tree gave way under his legs.

"_Oh fraaaaaaaaaaaaack………………"_

"Holy frack!" said Starbuck, on reaching the site. Everyone had stopped, and was taking in the picture.

"My God, Skipper!" said Jolly. "We're sunk!"

"Hummer? Are you alright?" shouted Starbuck. "Hummer?!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm okay, sir. I don't think Sargamesh is, though," he replied through bloody fingers that pinched his nose.

Hummer was on his knees, next to the Zohrloch, who was on his back. Next to them was a huge sinkhole where the tree and boulder had been, rapidly filling with water. Both men were covered in mud, much of that on Sargamesh tinged blue. Cassie, right behind Starbuck, at once went to check on the downed man.

But that was not Apollo's only concern. The falling tree had not just led to the injury of two of his men. In its fall, the tree, old, thick, and very heavy, had come down on the shuttle itself. It had smashed in several of the front ports, buckling the metal as well. It had then rolled off, massive and tangled branches wreaking havoc inside, before rolling down the hill.

"The only tree within a hundred-fifty metrons, and it lands on our shuttle," said Starbuck, shaking his head. "We just lost our ride out of here."

"Let's hope not." Apollo looked to the Vipers. One was slightly askew, nose low in the mud. "Jolly?'

"Yes, Skipper?"

"Check out your Viper. See if she's okay."

"Right away," said the other. As if on queue, the tremor resumed, and Jolly slipped in the mud, going sprawling. Regaining his feet, if not his dignity, he reached his ship.

"Yeah, if he lays on the turbos, he can get back to the Fleet and bring help back in time," said Starbuck. "It's a no go with the other Viper. Her fuel's too low."

Apollo didn't answer right away, drawing his electrobinocs, and looking back up the valley. The volcano was really going at it now. A huge column of ash and steam, even larger than before, was billowing into the sky, gigantic boulders and slabs of rock spilling down her flanks, and it didn't look like it was going to subside anytime soon.

"Bad?" asked Jensen.

"Yeah," replied Apollo. "Looks like her glaciers are melting." He looked down at the stream. Already swelling, it was turbid, and tinged with ash.

"So we have a choice. Quake, volcano, or mud,"

"So it seems."

"Skipper!' shouted Jolly. Apollo turned, and saw the other man waving at him. He and Starbuck ran across the field, to Jolly's Viper. "Skipper, we've got a problem."

"Why was I afraid he was going to say that?" said Starbuck. "He's playing our song," he quipped, with a rueful look at the Captain.

"What is it?"

"Won't she fly?" asked Starbuck.

"Oh she can fly. At least the engines check out. But look at her canopy." He indicated the canopy, left open after landing. Instead of the pristine one he'd left, it now sported a long crack, where it had been struck by something heavy. Starbuck cursed, running his finger along the split in the material.

"_Why_ do we leave these things open?" Starbuck shook his head. "Anyone?"  
Apollo nodded. "Can you seal it?" he asked.

"Maybe, but that's not all." Jolly indicated the interior of the cockpit. On the seat lay a sharp hunk of rock, larger than his pilot's helmet. One side of the instruments were smashed, the control stick bent badly over.

"She'll never fly," growled Apollo.

"A hunk of that boulder must have shattered, or maybe the tree roots popped one out of the mud, and ended up flying this way," said Jolly. "Can you believe a million to one shot like that?"

"Oh, _I _can…" Starbuck rolled his eyes.

"I'm not liking this whole thing," said Apollo. "This is just too weird."

"Can we fix it?" asked Starbuck

"Maybe," said Apollo, unavoidably recalling their Vipers on Paradeen, their instruments smashed by Sarah. "Maybe, parts from one…"

"Do we have time?" asked Jolly, as the ground shook once more.

"Ask the volcano."

As Jolly and Jensen worked to assess the condition of the Colonial ships, the rest returned to the _Saint Brendan. _The tremors seemed to have ceased for the moment, but doubtless would return.

"How is he?" asked Jena, of Sargamesh. The Zohrloch was propped up in the Byrne's shelter, still unconscious.

"He's sedated," said Cassie. "He's got a broken rib, and a badly sprained shoulder, aside from all those lacerations on his face. A mild concussion, too."

"Blue blood?" asked the girl, looking at the bandages. "It's so…weird."

"Kind of, but his people are like that."

"Weird?" Jena returned with a mischievous smile, before asking, "Who are they?"

Cassie smiled, encouraged by the display of humor.

"They call themselves _Zohrloch,_ from a planet called Eridu."

"Where's that?"

"You got me," said Cassie, rechecking Sargamesh's vitals. She shook her head, accessing her medical files to see if what she saw was actually normal for these guys. "I have no idea where their homeworld is. We found them on our journey, on some horrible backwater planet called Boron-Din." She turned as Jena laughed. Momentarily confused, she remembered that the Languatron had probably rendered the name literally: _Rotten Planet. _

She told Jena of how they had detoured to that dolorous world, in a desperate attempt to salvage their threatened food supply, and encountered Sargamesh and a fellow Zohrloch, Korl, brutally enslaved by the cruel masters of that place. Liberated and eventually accepted into Colonial society, both men had proven excellent Warriors, with much to contribute to the Colonial refugees.

And a lot to unlearn.

"And you are a doctor?" asked Jena.

"No. At least not _yet_. I'm still in the accelerated study course, to get my medical degree."

"Oh. What were you before you had to leave your Colonies?"

Cassie told her something of her own history. The girl looked puzzled, looking down at the Languatron, then back up at her.

"What's a prostitute?"

As the largest of the suns dipped towards the horizon, Jolly called in. It was not a sanguine report. An entire bank of instruments in his Viper would need to be pulled for repairs, for which they had neither the time nor the venue. The equivalent panel could be pulled from Sargamesh's Viper, but the control stick would take longer. Apollo asked about switching fuel cells with the undamaged ship. Jolly said yeah, if they could get her nose out of the mud, and make sure that pesky valve stayed shut, they might just manage it.

But time was the factor.

The shuttle wasn't much better. The tree had smashed in the front ports, and ripped cables and wires dangled across the control panels. She still had power, and Jensen had gotten the beacon going again, but without some serious work, she wasn't going anywhere. The engines would start, but her controls were a mess, and there was no way to fly her.

"Okay, Jolly. Load as much of the equipment we brought as possible into the Landram, and get back here."

"_On the way, Skipper_."

"So, what's the plan?" asked Byrne. As evening set in, they were sitting around the fire, outside the shelter. He had just returned from visiting a small grassy enclosure, immaculately tended, atop a small hill behind the camp, topped with a crudely carved, cruciform piece of wood. Byrne had lain flowers on it, and he and his daughter had spoken Apollo and the rest stayed back, allowing father and daughter their privacy. On a stone slab had been inscribed words the Colonials could not read.

_Genesis Penelope Kling_

_Anno Domini 1975-2014_

_Requiescat in Pace, cara mia._

"_Nunc dimittis servam tuam, Domine,_ _secundum verbum tuum in pace "_

The Earthman had offered them of his larder, such as it was, mostly game taken from the surrounding forests, some fish from a pool a few hundred metrons further up the stream, and a few vegetables that they raised in a small patch on the other side of the stream. Above them, as the sky darkened, an aurora writhed and flailed it's way across the gloaming vault. A few electric lights, powered by a small windmill generator, provided illumination.

"We have no choice," said Apollo, as Byrne tossed another hunk of wood on the fire. "We're going to have to try and get your ship going again."

"Think you can?" asked Byrne, or rather coughed. Apollo hoped he didn't have the local equivalent of the flu, or something else contagious to the Colonials. All the Fleet needed was another alien plague.

"We don't have a lot of choice, Commander," said Apollo. "Within a few days, this planet's moon is going to start breaking up. If we're not out of here by then…"

"And you can't contact your mothership? This…" cough "Battlestar?"

"Not from the surface," said Hummer, explaining. "Our relay satellite is our only link, right now, unless the suns die down."

"Well, then I guess we go that way," said Byrne, looking across towards the_ Saint Brendan. _"I just hope…"

"What?" asked Starbuck.

"I just hope she'll do it. We took a bloody hard pounding coming in, and the pirates shot her full of holes. Thank God they didn't actually hit anything _vital_. Thanks to the forge, I've been able to fabricate patches." He gestured towards a small, crude forge, next to the stream. Hammer, a stone anvil, and a pile of metal chunks. "This planet is thankfully mineral-rich, and there are both copper and iron deposits within a day's walk of here."

"And you've made replacement parts…with _that_?" asked Hummer, indicating the forge. Byrne nodded. "Fantastic."

"Tell us more about your journey," said Apollo. "How did your ships come to be so far from your home planet?" Even as he asked, Apollo knew he was anxious to find out eventually how this expedition of Commander Byrne's tied-in with the matter of the Derelict that he and Sheba had encountered one terrifying occasion, and where he had received the cryptic clue from Colonel Delambre, one-time Executive Officer of the long-lost Battlestar _Callisto,_ that crewmen of an Earth ship had been sadly captured and then enslaved by Count Iblis and his crew of demonic minions. But that was something he couldn't reveal to Byrne now, not without hearing the full story from the Earthman in his own words, and even then, he knew he'd have to get clearance from Adama to tell Byrne about the matter of the Derelict, given how it remained a classified secret known only to Apollo, Sheba, Adama and Colonel Tigh.

"How?" Byrne chortled, and took another sip of his drink. "I wish to God I knew, Captain. We were on course, everything totally nominal, then suddenly…wham!"

"On course where?"

"Oh, sorry. I forget sometimes. My ship, along with our sister ship, the _Cabrillo, _were the first of a new generation of space vehicles, built to explore and colonize our solar system. Our planet, Earth, is the only habitable world in our system."

"Nine, right?" asked Starbuck. "You have nine planets?"

"Why, yes. Sort of. They kind of rescinded Pluto's status as a planet, deciding it was a dwarf. How did you know?"

Starbuck described the chart he'd seen in his cell on Proteus. He'd leave out the mystical "revelation" that Apollo and Sheba received as to Earth's system to some other time.

"Well, yeah. But we have long wanted to move out, and explore and even colonize our fourth planet. Mars." He gave them a brief description of the Red Planet, and it's desolate and forbidding environment. "Our ships were supposed to be a quantum leap in space technology. Bigger and faster than anything we'd flown yet, they were developed in secret, at a facility that officially doesn't even exist. In fact, the whole Mars mission was classified way, _way, _above Top Secret."

"Why?" asked Hummer. "Science and exploration should be open." Byrne looked at him as if he were unsure the kid had actually said that.

"Politics, kid. It's kinda complicated. Anyway, after I got out of the Navy, I opted for NASA." He explained. "After flying a couple of shuttle missions, and a stint on the Space Station, I was tapped for this new program. We were going to take the first manned ships to Mars, and begin the preparations for establishing a colony there. Thanks to our new propulsion system, we could reach Mars in just under a month, instead of the eight months or more it took before that. So they said."

"Quite a leap," said Apollo.

"Maybe, but I'm betting that's nothing compared to what _you_ guys have," smiled Byrne. "Anyway, we launched, made it into orbit, and everything went fine. We orbited the Earth several times, giving everything a last onceover before heading off. We burned out of orbit as predicted. Then we cut in the nucleonic drive, swung around the Moon, and headed off for Mars. Everything looked good." He stopped, and smiled a gallows smile. "Yeah, good. One of the Space Program's all-time classic screw-ups."

"What happened?" asked Hummer.

"We were three hours out, on course. Everything was nominal, all systems functioning as advertised. After a final diagnostic, we got the go-ahead from Houston, to engage the anti-matter drive system."

"Houston?"

"Our Mission Control center. In the city of Houston." Hummer nodded.

"And?" asked the technician again. He was clearly on the edge of his seat.

"We did. According to the way it was designed, we had to get up to a minimum speed, in order to engage the anti-matter drive. We made it, then topped it." He sighed. "First us, then the _Cabrillo, _we fired it up. It seemed to work fine, at first. All the instruments read nominal. Our speed picked up gradually, then faster and faster, and pretty soon we were passing half a million per hour. It was a dream. Nobody, well, not from _Earth_, anyway, had ever achieved _that_ sort of speed. We had to climb gradually, of course. Too fast, and the inertia will leave you like strawberry jam all over the bulkheads."

"No dampers?" asked Starbuck, clearly surprised. "For the inertial drag?"

"Nothing like what _you_ guys obviously have." He took another drink. "So we kept on accelerating over the course of several hours, and it all looked good. Then, it happened."

"What?" asked Apollo.

"I wish I knew, Captain," said Byrne. "After our speed topped three-quarter mil, both ships began to buck, like a horse. Our speed started surging uncontrollably, up and down, and then it was like the space outside our ships turned, well, sort of orange in color. Like the ionization you get on reentry. Our radio went dead, and the controls froze up."

"No clue as to why?" asked Starbuck, staring at the food on his stick, and wondering what it had been when it was alive.

"Not then. It kept getting worse, and we couldn't shut the drive down. The controls were frozen, or fried, whatever. We fired all our breaking thrusters, but it was like trying to stop a dragster with your foot. The computer had gone off-line, along with our radar, and we were stuck, screaming across the solar system out of control and blind as a bat."

"And then?" asked Apollo.

"The stress on the hull was mounting, and so I ordered everyone to suit up at once, in case we popped a seal somewhere. Then, the whole blob of light in front of us seemed to swell even bigger, and I passed out." Byrne took another drink, then got up, moving to the edge of the fire's light. "Next thing I knew, I was staring out the windows, at a field of stars, and I had a headache you wouldn't believe. For several minutes, maybe longer, I just sat there in the pilot's seat, and stared, mind not really working. Then I began to focus, and I tried to figure out what had gone wrong. At least half the instruments were down, or just blinking at me, and the gravity wasn't working. I got up, and checked out my crew."

Byrne fell silent a moment. A long moment. Obviously, reliving the experience that had cast him so far from home was emotionally painful. Starbuck could vaguely understand. Byrne had lost people. _His _people. As when Starbuck had lost Cadet Jada on that training fiasco, Byrne felt the loss of those under him very sharply.

_Yeah. We have a lot in common._

"We were a crew of ten, on the _Saint Brendan,_" Byrne finally resumed. "When that thing spit us out, there were only three left. Seven of my crew dead. Some hadn't suited up in time, before the airlock blew open. One was killed by flying debris. Another was sucked out a blown window."

"You can't blame yourself, Commander," said Apollo. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was in command, Captain. That _makes_ it my fault! It was no different when I was CAG, back on the _Constellation. _You lose a pilot…A commander is responsible for the lives of his crew. _And _their deaths. Surely you understand."

Apollo just knodded, saying nothing. Yes, he knew the feeling.

"Well, after picking up the pieces as best we could, we managed to reseal the airlock, and refit the window from stores. One by one the instruments came back, and we found the _Cabrillo_ after a few hours. We linked up, and tried to figure out what had happened. She was hurt badly, too, and had lost several of her crew. One was barely hanging on. We tried to contact Houston, but got no response, of course. After we got the computer working again, Jena took some star readings. That's when we learned the ugly truth."

"Jena?" asked Starbuck. "You don't mean…" he pointed vaguely towards the shelter. As if on cue, the girl emerged from the shelter, and joined her father. Cassie sat next to Starbuck.

"No. Her mother. She was named for her mom. Anyway, Jen took some star readings, but we couldn't recognize a one. We were totally lost. No idea at all where we'd ended up."

"How long did you drift?" asked Apollo.

"I'm not entirely sure. The ship's chrono was knocked out by whatever had happened to us. According to my watch, several days had passed. It was all very confusing."

"But you got her going again," said Apollo, indicating the ship.

"Finally. Slowly, we began to limp forward. The _Cabrillo _took longer, so we shot out a line, and towed her, till she got her engines back up. We traveled for several days, until we saw that we were approaching a solar system that Jena had spotted on the telescope."

"Was that when you were found by the Zykonians?" asked Hummer.

"Not quite. After several days heading in towards this system, we picked up something on the radar. Coming up behind us. It was a ship. Nothing like any we'd ever seen. It was blocky, ugly, really. We hailed it, but got no response. Then it moved away. I mean she vanished so fast I couldn't believe it. Then, _they_ showed up. The Zykonians."

Byrne went on to tell how another ship, bigger and very menacing-looking, had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and several beings had come aboard. Just _appeared_. Apollo knodded. Through the use of translation devices even more sophisticated than the Colonials, they had learned of the Zykonian's matter transport technology. The newcomers introduced themselves, after a fashion, and offered assistance. Byrne had little choice, and the Earth vessels were taken in tow, and after some hours, they reached a planet.

"Krylamic," he said, spitting the word out as if it tasted bad. "Some kind of remote outpost these folks had, near where we'd ended up. Restricted space, we found out. It seemed like our showing up tripped some sort of alarm, and they came to see who we were. I guess our communications systems didn't mesh."

"At least they didn't shoot first, and ask no questions," said Cassie.

"Yeah, there's that," replied Byrne.

"How long were you on Krylamic?" asked Apollo.

"About three months or so, I'm guessing. They took care of us at first. Tended us in some kind of medical facility. Sadly, they couldn't save Chuck."

"Chuck?"

"Oh, right. Chuck. Charles Babcock, the injured crewman from the _Cabrillo._ He didn't make it. So, finally, there were only six of us left."

"Then?" asked Starbuck.

"Well, our ships were put into a kind of hangar, and then their technical people went over them. We cooperated with them. We had nothing to hide. All I wanted was to find a way to get what was left of my people home. And we had no idea if we had maybe even traveled through time, or into another dimension. Past, future, we didn't know." He coughed gently. "Anyway, when all's said and done, it turns out these guys had never heard of any planet called Earth. Our flight recorders were pretty well toast, but they were able to figure out from what was left that we'd been shot through some kind of a 'rift', or a 'warp in space-time', as they called it."

"A rip in space-time," said Hummer, clearly mulling the ramifications. "Incredible."

"Sure the hell was. Somehow, the space in front of us got torn open, forming some kind of tunnel or doorway, and we went for one hell of a ride." He snorted. "Talk about where no man has gone before." He shook his head. "Shit, Mom was right. I should have taken that job at Boeing."

"And where would that leave me?" asked Jena, elbowing her dad.

"Okay. Good point," replied Byrne.

As he finished, they could hear an engine in the distance. Soon, the Landram came into view, and Jolly called up. They all rose, and moved to meet the rest.

* Literally- "What? I…"

_**Chapter Eight**_

Sargamesh awoke, sometime during the dark centars, unsure at first where he was, or how he had come to be here. He'd gone down the valley, and been moving towards the shuttle, when…

_Oh, of course. The quake. The fall. I was…_

_Where is Hummer?_

He got up, willing himself to ignore the pain, and looked around. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, and he saw that he was in the shelter of the older Human. Two bunks, a crude table, and next to his own bed, he noticed a photograph. A woman, some years older than Jena, but greatly resembling her. Obviously, her mother.

He looked down, regarding himself. His left arm was in a sling, and his face was bandaged. His head still felt a little fuzzy. Obviously, he had been medicated. He heard a noise outside and went out. There he saw the rest, standing around the Landram, brightly lit up, and off-loading equipment.

"May I help?" he asked. Apollo turned around.

"Lieutenant, you're awake."

"Lieutenant Sargamesh, reporting for duty, Captain." Sargamesh took in the Landram and the rest, as he saluted, then his gaze fell on Hummer.

"You shouldn't be up," said Cassie, moving towards him. "You have some serious injuries…"

"There is work to be done," he replied, matter-of-factly. "I cannot shirk my duties."

"Your powers of recuperation _are_ formidable, yes, but you still need to rest, Lieutenant," Cassie shot back.

_Females!_

"Uh, Lieutenant," began Apollo, about to order him back to bed, but the look in Sargamesh's eye repented him of it. He sighed. "Okay. Help Hummer check the contents of the containers."

"Sir!"

"No lifting!" Cassie called after him.

"Can't hurt himself with _that_ job," Apollo said quietly to Cassie. She shook her head, and went back to the Landram.

"She's quite a vehicle," said Byrne, looking the Colonial transport over. "What's her mode of power?"

"Electrically driven magnetic turbine," said Apollo. "She's good for a full day, non-stop, per energy cell."

"I want one!" grinned Byrne.

Until the wee centars, they worked on assessing the _Saint Brendan_, and deciding what could be done. Since becoming marooned here, Byrne and his daughter had done a remarkable job of patching and repairing the vessel. Welds, both inside and out, testified to the damage she had sustained. Soon, Jensen and Hummer were busy both scanning and reinforcing many of them, Starbuck and Jolly replacing damaged or missing cables, connectors forged from native metals, and sealed with native saps boiled into a form of rubber as insulation. It wasn't until the equivalent of "four in the bloody morning", as Byrne put it, that they laid off.

The Moon was rising.

"Yeah, she's looking bad," said Byrne. Through the binocs, they could see the surface of the satellite. Even at this distance, huge fissures and chasms were visible, winding across the surface. "It's a miracle she's stuck together this long."

"When did it start?" asked Apollo.

"A little over a year ago, local time. What I thought was a comet at first kept getting brighter, every night, till it swung real close. It was no comet, though."

"An asteroid," said the Captain.

"Yeah. And a big one, too. And heavy. Spectro read out as iron-nickel, mostly. Must have been, oh, between three and four hundred miles across. Maybe more, and very massive. There were a lot of quakes, of course. Skimmed close, passing right behind the Moon, then arced around and headed back out into space. It swung around twice more, before winging back out into space, and I thought for sure we were gonna get whacked. But no. After that, though, the Moon's orbit showed signs of how much the asteroid had altered it. I have no way of doing much in the way of precise calculations, I have no data on the asteroid's mass or exact distance, but it yanked the Moon out of kilter." Apollo furrowed his brows, and Byrne explained.

"And how soon afterwards did it become obvious?"

"A few days. The Moon seemed awfully small, and then night after night it got larger and larger. And with each orbit, it gets a little closer. Pretty soon, based on what I _can_ calculate, she'll hit Roche's Limit, and then the fun really begins."

"Well, hopefully, we'll be out of here, before that happens," said Apollo.

The ground shook once more.

"You and me both, Captain."

The Colonials were up before dawn, to find Jena already at work on the ship. Cassie caught her, on the flight deck, wrestling with a circuit module.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Slow," growled Jena. "The frame of this thing it bent all to hell, and getting it to slide back in…is…a real job."

"Here," said Cassie, and lent a hand. The module was square, with circuits visible mounted inside, leads and contacts projecting below. The metal casing had been pried open, then forced closed. Together, Cassie reaching underneath the panel to bend a clasp out of the way, it was at last slid into place. Jena exhaled loudly, and flipped up some switches. Above her, a small screen came to life, filled with colored lines and graphs.

"What's this?" asked Cassie, unable to read any of the lettering.

"Engine monitor. It tells us what's going on with them. Pressure, temperature, magnetic field integrity. All that jazz."

"And you understand all this?" asked Cassie. Although she had often flown with her father, an Arean merchant on his ship, her expertise was limited mainly to transmitting messages, and the occasional seat-of-the-pants stint in the pilot's seat. The inner workings of ship's machinery and systems were out of her league.

"Thanks to Pop, yeah. I've spent my whole life right here, in and around this ship. Fixing and maintaining."

"Well, he's done a remarkable job, considering," said Cassie. "Kind of like me."

"You were stranded?"

"No, but my father was a merchant. Flew his own ship. A one man operation, pretty much. After my mother died, I basically grew up on that old bucket. He taught me how to read and write. Saw to it I had something resembling an education."

"Sounds like we have a lot in common," replied Jena. She tapped in some commands on the keyboard. Apparently liking the results, she moved on to the next station. A tray of some sort slid out from a console, and she slid a disk into it."

"What's this one do?"

"The stereo," said Jena, as cacophonous music began to waft from speakers somewhere overhead.

_Here we stand, or here we fall,_

_History won't care at all!_

_Make the bed, light the light  
Lady mercy won't be home tonight!_

_Yeah, you don't waste no time at all  
Don't hear the bell but you answer the call  
It comes to you as to us all  
Hey, we're just waiting  
For the hammer to fall - yeah_

"You have music from Earth? Here on your ship?"

"Oh yeah. Movies, too."

"Uh…"

Jena explained.

_Oh every night, and every day  
A little piece of you is falling away  
But lift your face, the western way, baby  
Build your muscles as your body decays_

Yeah, toe your line and play their game  
Yeah, let the anesthetic cover it all  
Till one day they call your name  
You know it's time for the hammer to fall - yeah

Rich or poor or famous for  
Your truth it's all the same - oh no - oh no  
Oh lock your door but rain is pouring  
Through your window pane - oh no - yeah  
Baby now your struggle's all vain

Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh

For we who grew up tall and proud  
In the shadow of the mushroom cloud  
Convinced our voices can't be heard  
We just wanna scream it louder and louder and louder

What the hell we fighting for ?  
Ah, just surrender and it won't hurt at all  
You just got time to say your prayers  
Eh, while you're waiting for the hammer to hammer to fall  
Hey, yes, it's starting to fall eh, hammer, you know  
Yeah, hammer to fall, wooh, ah, hey, eh woowoo, ha eh hammer  
Waiting for the hammer to fall baby  
Yeah yeah while you're waiting for the hammer to fall  
Give it to me one more time!

"Can you turn it down?" asked Cassie.

"Huh?'

"Yeah."_  
_

As they worked against the clock, the volcano continued to belch ash and poisonous gases into the air. The rumbling of her increasingly loud explosions reverberated down the valley, reminding everyone of the dearness of time. Looking up the valley, Sargamesh could see the occasional burst of glowing lava, as molten rock made it's way to the surface. Already, the sky was muddy, streaked with ash from the cone.

"Think we can make it?" asked Jolly, goggles on, welding a replacement on for the missing canard.

"What I _think_ would be of no use, actually," said Sargamesh, who, despite Cassie's admonitions, was working. "If the planet is doomed, what I _think_ will in no way alter the facts."

"Remind me never to go to you for spiritual advice," said Jolly, laughing. Sargamesh smiled, and held the piece of metal in place with his good arm.

"You have company," said the Zohrloch. "I was never much in demand in that regards, back in the Empire."

"Gee, I wonder why?" teased Jolly. "Yeah…here. Right."

"However, I will confess to hoping that these welds will withstand the stress of take-off, Jolly."

"More like the whole ship," replied Jolly. "She looks like she's been through the wars."

"Then that will make him, I mean _her,_ venerable," smiled the other. He looked down, and saw Hummer, on his way to the shelter. He mused a moment, about the technician. The man had done something that had in no way been expected nor demanded of him. He certainly had no training as a warrior, nor been inculcated in such a code. Yet, he had risked his own life, in saving another's. He needed to do something about this, Sargamesh decided. The situation could not stand, as it was.

_Rummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmble………………._

_Provided the gods give me the chance._

"You have those calculations?" asked Byrne, of Hummer. The Colonial handed him the pad, and Byrne looked it over. "Okay, the weight looks good. Or as good as it's gonna get, all things being considered."

"Your engines seem alright as well, near as I can interpret your diagnostics," said Hummer, turning to him, from the engineering board. "What is your fuel status?"

"If you mean our main rocket thrusters, the tanks are almost full. With equipment we salvaged, I was able to synthesize more, but the ship was never designed to make orbit with just what's in the tanks, from a planet with this high a gravity."

"How, then?"

"We had solid rocket boosters attached when we took off, as well as extra external fuel tanks. All jettisoned during our launch sequence."

_Lords! How primitive!_

"Then how were you going to make it home?" asked Hummer.

"Mars has a thinner atmosphere and considerably lower gravity than Earth. That, plus we'd have less than half the crew and equipment aboard at takeoff. But here…" he looked at the calculations, once more. "The gravity here is only a percentage point or two below Earth normal. We're gonna get one chance at achieving escape velocity, and that's that."

"The tanks?"

"They're okay, but we put her through alot getting off Krylamic, and I laid it on the retros when we came in."

"No way to synthesize any more fuel?"

"Nope. We had to cannibalize a lot of stuff, and my plumber's nightmare broke down a couple of weeks ago. It was a backup for synthesizing rocket fuel from the atmosphere on Mars, not here. I'm not even positive about the purity of the stuff." Byrne suddenly had an idea. "What about your shuttle? Could you?"

"No, we use a totally different fuel type than you do. I might be able to rig up something, but it would take a lot longer than we have."

"Understood."

The relief Adama had felt earlier when Athena had told him the auto-beacon had resumed, had slowly faded over the last centar as no direct reports came in. Then, the auto-beacon stopped for a period, and then started up again. It was enough to make him realize that at the very least, things weren't proceeding on a totally normal footing.

Even so, he knew that now was not the time to start panicking or entertaining thoughts that the worst was happening. Warriors were expected to deal with the unpredictable whenever they had to undertake any kind of mission to the unknown terrain of an unknown planet. And Kobol knew there'd been more than their share of the unexpected in the last yahren with each new planet they'd encountered or been forced to study.

For now, Adama kept his bearing even, as he maintained the waiting vigil on the Bridge's command level. Occasionally, Tigh noticed the Commander glancing over his shoulder toward the Bridge entrance and he could only assume it was to see whether or not Siress Lydia was going to show up again for an update. But when someone finally did emerge, it wasn't the Council Vice-President ( Lords of Kobol be praised! ), but rather Adama's daughter-in-law.

"Commander," Sheba said pleasantly as she came up to Adama. She handed him her data pad with her mission report, and after a brief perusal, he signed off on it. "I've finished debriefing the trainees, sir, and I thought I'd check up on the mission status before I turn in."

Before Adama could reply, Athena spoke up, not aware of her sister-in-law's presence."Still l no response from our landing party, sir. The auto-beacon has resumed transmitting, but there is no response to any messages."

Adama winced slightly that Sheba would have had to find out that way, but then tried to sound a reassuring note. "It's probably nothing out of the ordinary, Sheba."

His daughter-in-law slowly nodded, "You're right, it probably isn't." She then hesitated slightly, "Boxey's sleeping pretty well in your quarters, isn't he?"

"Peacefully."

"Then, if you don't mind, I'll just let him sleep the rest of the night there, and maybe I'll….just wait here and find out what else happens." Her tone was even. "Not that I'm worried. I just….would like to stay on top of the news. That's all."

"I understand."

"Commander," this came from Omega. "We're getting some unusual readings on one of the suns that planet orbits."

"Unusual?" Adama moved over, so he could better hear the Bridge Officer.

"Yes sir. Clear signs of increased solar flare and magnetic field activity from one of them. It's going to play havoc with our ability to do further scanning at this distance."

"Which means we could lose both our ability to keep monitoring the auto-beacon _and_ pick up new transmissions," Adama idly tapped his hand in mild frustration against the railing, "Isn't that lovely?"

"Maybe we could close our range to the planet to override the interference," Tigh suggested.

"Out of the question," Adama shook his head, "That would require breaking our tight formation with the rest of the Fleet and leaving Baltar's ship the only capital one in close proximity to everyone else, and the last thing I need to see is a bunch of civilian ship captains getting a needless case of jitters. Any change in our position would have to be coordinated with Baltar, and I'm not ready to do that for something like this."

"I understand," Sheba spoke up, not wanting to let her father-in-law think that she was rushing to panic. "It's the….sensible political decision under the circumstances."

"And politics is going to factor into a good many of these kinds of decisions in the future," Adama sighed and then looked back at his daughter. "Athena, keep monitoring the situation."

_Chapter Nine_

Sent back down the valley, Jolly and Jensen had succeeded in getting one Viper's nose out of the mud. In a reversal of fortune of sorts, a sudden rise in the stream overnight had washed away a lot of muck from around the ship. Using her nose thruster, they raised the ship, and set her back down on firmer ground. The transferring of fuel cells, however, would take a bit longer.

_Rummmmmmmmmmmmmmmble….._

Or not, as the case may be.

"What does it say?" asked Starbuck, as they broke for a short lunch. To save time, Apollo had had survival rations brought from the shuttle to the campsite. Byrne had looked at them, tasted, and then actually laughed.

"One constant in a changing universe," he'd chuckled.

"What?" asked Starbuck.

"MREs. I think we had the same supplier." Jena laughed at her father's quip, but the Colonials were left puzzled.

"Commander," said Apollo, "can you tell us more about your voyage?"

"Yes. How did you get here?" asked Cassie.

"Well, like I said, the Zykonians had us. And our ships. After almost three months, we were getting a bit tired of it. No straight answers, always 'We're waiting for word from Headquarters', blah, blah, blah. Then I met Ozko."

"Interesting fellow," said Starbuck.

"Yeah, he is. Turns out, he could understand Zykonian fairly well. He learned to understand us, too, after a while, though he said English was one of the toughest languages he'd ever heard. He'd overheard a couple of the Zykonian bigshots shooting their mouths off in the Officer's Club, or whatever you want to call it, about us. They were going to transfer us to a 'facility' on their home planet, more or less permanently. They hadn't even bothered to _try_ and locate Earth, like they'd promised. And I wasn't going to have what was left of my crew be used for lab fodder! They wanted to run all sorts of experiments on Jen's mother. 'How do Human females gestate? How do their hatchlings grow?' That kind of crapola, and worse. That, and we never did get Charlie's body back. Not even for a decent burial. So, I decided it was time to go."

"Daring," said Sargamesh. "Held by strange beings in unknown territory."

"How were you going to get back to Earth?" asked Apollo.

"I didn't know. But I sure as hell wasn't going to just sit around and let what remained of my crew be treated like lab rats. So, we made a plan to escape."

"Ozko told us you blasted your way out of the hangar," said Starbuck.

"We did. With a little help from him."

"He helped?" asked Apollo, surprised. "He never mentioned that."

"No, I doubt he would. He was a very self-effacing guy. Or whatever a Calcoryan is. Big bloody artichoke." Byrne laughed, shaking his head. "He slipped us a weapon, and, from somewhere, the security code to the hangar doors. We got in, and stunned the guards. That's when we split up, of course. With only six of us left, we went three to a ship. Me, Jen's mom, and Cedric climbed into the _Saint Brendan, _andTim, ourlast remaining doctor, Jean-Pierre, and Ehud made a dash for the _Cabrillo_."

"Who?" asked Cassie. "I'm getting lost."

"Sorry. There I go again. Jen's mom was Mission Specialist Genesis Kling. Jen was named after her. She was an astrophysicist, from MIT. Uh, one of our universities, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Cedric was Cedric Allen, Mission Specialist and Nuclear Engineer, from the Royal Australian Navy. Tim was Timothy Harms, a doctor, from the Mayo Clinic." He nodded to Cassie, "Jean-Pierre St. Claire, Royal Canadian Air Force, and Ehud Gur, Agronomist and Mission Specialist, from Ben-Gurion University, in Israel."

Apollo nodded. He'd heard those same names from Ozko.

"And your break out?" asked Hummer.

"The ships fired up surprisingly well, for which I guess we should thank the air-licking little bastards. But, several of our gauges and indicators were either disconnected or missing! Little thieves! They'd been fooling around with both ships."

"And you had no trouble getting out of the hangar?"

"Well, not too much. The doors started to open, then began to shut again. I guess they'd cottoned on to us. So we crashed through 'em."

"Hard on your ships," said Starbuck.

"Harder on the doors. And I guess we, well, sort of ran over a guard or two." Byrne smiled, and it wasn't a kind smile. "Their security guys were pouring out onto the tarmac, and so we went for it. I slammed the controls all the way, and screamed down the landing field. They shot at us, but we made it into the air. In a few minutes, we were out of the atmosphere. Thankfully, Krylamic has a gravity about half that of Earth. Then, we kicked in the nucleonic drive, and were ripping across their solar system."

"Did they come after you?" asked Apollo.

"Yeah. We tried to sabotage their patrol ships, but I guess we didn't do so good. Within a few minutes, we picked up a ship coming after us, and they were gaining, even though we had her almost balls to the wall. They ordered us to surrender. I answered back and told them…something unkind. They fired on us,"

"But you got away, obviously," said Sargamesh.

"Yeah. There's a gas giant with a lot of rings and moons in that system, and Krylamic orbits it pretty far out. We skirted in that way, to try and evade them in the rings." He coughed several times, and took a long drink.

"You okay?" asked Starbuck.

"Yeah. Just a bit dry from talking to much."

"And the other ship?" asked Sargamesh.

"I don't know. She banked one way, we banked the other, to try and shake the patrol off. When we got past the gas giant, we couldn't see them anymore. And then the navigational computer went off-line, the controls froze up, and we couldn't navigate. We just kept on, for days, maybe. I'm not sure. We seemed to lose all track of time."

"But you said you don't have light-speed drive," said Hummer.

"No, we don't. In fact, on Earth, it's considered to be impossible, in orthodox physics, to exceed the speed of light."

"You _are_ kidding, surely," said Sargamesh.

"No. I'm serious. We're here, so obviously there's a flaw in that theory, somewhere. How we did it I still have no idea, but we not only got out of their solar system, we evaded them altogether. I've got no clue how, and it's something I've mulled over a lot, believe me."

"Tell me," said Apollo, suddenly getting an idea, "In all that time, did you ever see or encounter a bright light? Behind your ship?"

"Now that is totally weird," said Byrne, slowly, looking at the Captain, intently. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. But we encountered something like it, once."

"Yeah. Yeah, we did. A couple of days after we crashed out, we entered this nebula, on the edges of Krylamic's system. After I don't know how long, something came on the radar. Coming up behind us. I don't know what it was, but it was intensely bright. The light seemed to grow, brighter and brighter, and there was this…I don't know. Weird sound, and we all passed out. When we woke up, Krylamic was nowhere in sight, the nebula was gone, and we were here."

"This planet?" asked Apollo.

"This system. We were hit by a small meteorite, and it hurt us. That must be when we lost the canard." He pointed at the ship. "After a few hours, we scanned a planet dead ahead, and made for it. By then our life-support was failing, and we needed someplace to put down. Luck was on our side. We made it into orbit, and found a place that looked pretty good." He refilled his cup, then tossed another hunk of wood on the fire. "Some of our retros gave out on the way down, and we had a real bouncer. But we made it. All three of us were alive, and the ship was still in one piece." He looked up at the ship, then at his chrono, coughing once more. "Well, mostly." He broke off, wheezing. Finally: "Oh man. Sorry. Better change brands. Okay, folks. Come on. Back to work."

"Your people use this kind of drive system?" asked Byrne, in the _Saint Brendan_'s cramped power plant room. "Exclusively?"

"Yes, mostly," replied Sargamesh. "Anti-matter, or as we call it, _seak-ta,_ has been standard propulsion on all warp driven ships for over a century."

_Warp driven? Did he actually say that? Cool!_

"Is that how long you've been able to exceed the speed of light?"

"Longer than that, actually. Many early experiments succeeded, many more failed. Some ships went into warp, and were never seen again. Others just blew up." Sargamesh peered into the guts of the ship's drive unit, after Byrne opened it up. "How long have you used it?"

"This was the first time. At least that I'm aware of. Personally, I thought it was too early to commit to an entire manned mission using it. It needed more testing. A _lot_ more. Especially since we had the other system as well, but the Area 51 techno geekoids, and the eggheads at NASA and JPL were adamant it would work. The whole thing was way over-engineered." Byrne looked at an instrument readout. "Obviously, they got their sums wrong, somewhere."

"It certainly would not be the first time," agreed Sargamesh, who had a dim view of scientists and other "intellectuals". "Perhaps if the engineers who design these machines had to actually be the ones to go out and_ test_ them…"

"You got that right," said Byrne. "But, no use crying over spilled anti-matter. We're here, and that's that."

"How does _this_ particular system work?" asked the Zohrloch. Inside the chamber, an object he could not at once identify was held in some kind of articulation frame or mount, and surrounded by a series of metal coils.

"A laser strikes this, here," indicated Byrne, "and a constant stream of positrons are produced. They're sucked up by the magnetic vacuum field, produced by this coil assembly here, and pumped out to the engine nacelles. There, they're mixed with electrons, and away we go."

"Intriguing," said Sargamesh, who had some experience in spacecraft engineering. "I am still curious as to what caused the rip, or wormhole, that transported you across space."

"Me too," said Byrne, coughing again. "I've tried to figure it out, but I have so little surviving data." He looked back at the Zohrloch. "You got a theory?"

"Perhaps," said Sargamesh. "Perhaps. I think that it may well be…well, first, how close were you to your brother ship when you engaged the seak…anti-matter drive?"

"Less than two hundred yards apart, abeam.' Byrne demonstrated with his hands. "Our computers were linked up, and when I flipped the switch, the ships engines engaged simultaneously."

"I see," said Sargamesh, slowly, as if thinking. "That would fit, I think."

"Fit what?"

"Well, if both units engaged, that close to each other, and you were already traveling at high speed, then it is very possible…" he stopped, as the ground shook once more. Byrne slipped, Sargamesh catching him. Then, the older Human began to cough again.

Only this time, it was not a slight or gentle sort of cough. At one point, he seemed likely to choke, unable to breathe. Unsure of what to do, Sargamesh pulled his commlink.

"Cassiopeia!"

"He'll be okay. For now," said Cassie, standing over Byrne, in what had once been the crew quarters. It had about the space of the inside of a footlocker, and smelled just about the same.

"What is it?" asked Sargamesh.

"I'll have to run some more tests," she said. Sargamesh nodded, heading back out to continue with the repairs. Cassie watched him go, then turned to Byrne. "Well? Do you want to tell your daughter, or should I?"

"What do you…"

"Knock it off, Commander Byrne. You may not be a physician, but I'm wagering you understand enough to know what's wrong with you." She crossed her arms over her chest, and just looked at him. "Well?"

"Okay, so what if I do? It's not like I can do a whole hell of a lot about it. I'm not God."

"_Have _you told your daughter?"

"No."

"And why not? She deserves to know."

"What? That her old man is gonna croak?"

"How long have _you_ known?"

"For sure? Couple of weeks, uh, what you call 'sectons', maybe a little more. I've suspected for a month or so before that." Cassie opened her mouth to speak, but Byrne was first. "Look, there's diddly shit I can do about it. We don't exactly have a hospital on board, you know."

"Then how did you diagnose it?"

"We have a multi-function electron microscope aboard, both scanning and tunneling, originally for analyzing Martian soil samples, and whatever life forms they might contain. One night, when Jen was asleep, I puked up on a slide, and scanned it. Like I said, I'm no doctor, but I compared it with one of our surviving medical files, _and_ ran it through the MassSpec. Near as I could make sense of it all, it all matched up."

"Hhmm. Interesting methodology, but like you said, this isn't exactly a hospital."

"You said it. Anyway, my only hope was that I'd last long enough to get this old bucket off the planet and out of here."

"So she can what? Have a dead man for a co-pilot?" hissed Cassie.

"Kind of beats staying here to get blasted into bits, doesn't it?" Cassie said nothing. "At least, once back in space, she'd have a chance. Not a great chance, sure, but at least it's something."

"And just where would you go, in a ship that can't achieve lightspeed?"

"This system has another planet that might be habitable. We might reach it."

"Uhhh."

"Maybe I should just stay here, and give up?" said Byrne. "Well, you guys are here, now. If she can get away…"

"You've got to tell her, Kevin."

"What? That her old man is mortal? Big news item. Film at eleven."

"Look, a lung tumor is not funny," said Cassie, putting a hand to his shoulder. "Doubly so when it's malignant."

"You don't hear me laughing," said Byrne, coughing. "That's what I get for being a three pack a day man. But you _have_ helped me make up my mind about something."

"What?"

"I'm staying."

"You're _what_?" she looked at him, aghast.

"Yeah. I'm staying behind. Look, weight is a consideration, and we've got one lousy chance to make escape velocity in this bucket. We don't, we burn up. Now we've stripped her of everything but the kitchen sink, but she's still iffy." He coughed again. "Besides, Jen's mother is buried here. And now that I think more on it, I don't want to leave her."  
"Do you really want your daughter carrying that memory with her? You've already told us she felt guilty about her mother's death, and she was only a toddler. How do you suppose she'd react to abandoning her father, her only living kin, to a violent end?"

"Man, lady, you sure know how to make it easy on a guy! Ever think of becoming a priest?"

"Your daughter needs you, Kevin!" she replied, ignoring his flippancy. "We're complete strangers! We don't even have a language in common, much less a cultural background."

"She needs to _survive_. Something she has a chance to do, now. She doesn't need a sick, dying old piece of baggage tagging along." He sighed. "Besides, how long have I got, anyway?"

"Left untreated," said Cassie, opening up her scanner and taking another reading, "you have about seven or eight of your months. Perhaps a little less, given that you're undernourished, and deficient in several important nutrients." Wordlessly, she took a hypo from her medical kit, and injected something into his arm.

"What was that?"

"Things you're deficient in," she replied tartly. "So, you'd stay here, to die, even if escape is possible?"

"Well, getting wiped out by an asteroid sure beats gagging out my last wheeze on the end of a rubber tube, Cassie. My uncle died of lung cancer, and believe me, it wasn't pretty."

"I've heard that."

"Then you'll understand why I don't want Jen to know about this. She'll go all filial on me, and insist on staying behind with me, pulling all that heroic bullshit."

"That doesn't need to happen, Commander," said Cassie.

"Well, unless you can perform miracles…"

"It can be cured," said Cassie, matter-of-factly.

"You're shitting me."

"No, whatever that means." She crinkled up her face as she looked at the Languatron, shaking her head at the result. "But what you have _is_ curable, Commander. The disease hasn't progressed beyond the point of no return."

"What, you've got something in you bag, there?'

"Not here, it would have to be back on the _Galactica._ But our medical science has found a way to cure this disease. In fact, it hasn't been a disease to fear for over a thousand yahrens."

"No shit?"

"No. No…uh, shit, Commander. Oh, I see." She frowned as she looked at the Languatron, nodding at him compassionately. "I can help you with that too."  
"_That too_?" He blinked, shaking his head and schooching back a bit as he realized what she was getting at. "My plumbing is fine! I'm as regular as earthquakes . . ." The ground trembled slightly. "Well, okay, maybe not that regular, but I'm _fine_!"  
She smiled slightly, "Then what . . . never mind. Think about it, Commander. We'll get past the translation difficulties. I'm telling you, we have a cure."

"I'll…think about it. But," and he nailed her with a serious gaze, "when it comes time to take off, if there is the slightest problem with the weight, I'm staying. You understand me?"

"Yes. I do."

"Okay. Now, do you guys have the doctor-patient confidentiality thing like we do?"

"If you mean not revealing the details of our discussions with or information about a patient to anyone else, then yes. We have to observe the same principle in the practice of medicine."

"Good. Then like I said. Not a word to Jena."

"But…"

"Not a word."

_**Chapter Ten**_

"…_since escaping from that horrible ship, and winding up here! Or did I escape?Really? He tore the ship apart for pieces. Did I really get away? What if I'm really still there? What if this is just another one of his sick tricks? Maybe he's really just hiding, waiting for me? Waiting to try and trick me again. Torment me! What if I'm really lost, like the others? Damned? Forever doomed to wander from one sick hallucination to another? Damn, why didn't they listen to that Delambre person who seemed to know all about him?_

"_But even if I am free of him, and this is all real now, it's still Hell of another kind. And this place, it's like an asylum! These people are demented. All they do is make liquor, screw all the time, and babble at me in a language I don't understand.__And from what I can tell, none of the locks on this place work but they seem content to just stay where they are and do the bidding of the guards. I suppose if I had any will left in me, I could walk out of here but even if I did get out of the complex, what could I use to fly? Where could I go? I don't have the strength left to ponder questions like that. Not when I'm so damned lost, lost, lost! It seems like the only way I can try and keep some scrap of sanity left in me is by writing all this down and make a few sketches on the wall. I can sketch. The wall said so. It told me it wanted me to draw things on it. It wants to know where I've been. Sketches of things I remember. Things that might make someone a million years from now realize who I was and where I came from. Maybe, God willing, if that happens, my soul can truly be at rest. All I know is that for now, I feel as if I'm part of the living I can't answer back! My voice is gone! Why can't I talk?God help me, please let me wake up from this nightmare and let me find out none of this ever happened. _

_Maybe I really am dead, like he said! God help me! God help me! Godhelpme………………"_

"My God, what he must have gone through," said Byrne, later, laying down the copies Starbuck had made, of pages from The Silent One's journal. They were inside the _Saint Brendan'_s flight deck. He reached for his drinking mug, and swallowed, looking over the rim at Cassie. While it had been no cure, he had to admit whatever she'd shot him with had made him feel better. Better in fact then he had felt for a long time.

"Does any of it make sense?" asked Apollo.

"Well, I only have a couple of pages, but yeah. Kind of."

"Which one of your companions wrote it?" asked Cassie. "Do you recognize the writing?"

"Yeah. It's Ehud's. Ehud Gur. He was from Israel. Well, dual U.S. and Israeli citizenship, and our mission agronomist."

"Israeli?" asked Jensen. Byrne explained.

"I'll need to see the rest, but from this," he waved the sheets, "it seems he escaped from some kind of really weird-sounding space ship. I have no idea how the _Cabrillo _got there, or how he escaped, or what happened to the others. It seems to have terrified him almost beyond reason."

_I can understand that, _thought Apollo. _Well that cinches the connection between "The Silent One" and the Derelict_. He felt an inner frustration that he couldn't broach the matter of his own experience with the ship that had terrorized this man named Ehud Gur and seen his companions enslaved into the ranks of Count Iblis's minions. The more this conversation went on, the more Apollo wondered if he'd have to take matters into his own hands and then explain his actions to his father later.

"He escaped, but from the rambling way he writes, it's like his mind had been affected, somehow."

"In what way?" asked Apollo.

"Ehud was an academic. He was always straightforward, concise, and to the point. A scientist. No wasted words, no extraneous conversation. This is like…like someone who's brain's been fried, and just keeps on and on. Like here: _"They're gone! They're gone! The Colonel said they were lost! Lost! How can they be lost? Why does he say that? Why? Make him stop saying that! Lost. Lostlostlost……." _That's not like Ehud. And the wall told him to sketch on it? It's the writing of a man who's mind has been shattered. And who's this Colonel guy? Where did you find this, again?" he asked Starbuck.

"Proteus Prison," replied the other, relating the story quickly. "One of the prisoners said that they always called him 'The Silent One', because he never talked. I guess we know why, now. He was found aboard an unidentified ship, just drifting near that system, and brought back. When not on one of the work gangs, he would just sit in his cell, and draw things on the walls."

"Got any pictures?"

"No, but we do, back on the _Galactica._"

"And this was how long ago?"

"Well, Robber, that's the former inmate who told me the story, said it was in his father's time. Near as I can figure, it was about thirty yahrens ago, or thereabouts. We'll need to calculate it all when we get back."

"I see. What finally happened to him?"

"Well, I wish I had good news," said Starbuck, "but according to their records, he was found hanging in his cell one morning. Apparently he'd killed himself."

"God," said Byrne, shaking his head. "I never would have thought Ehud… I mean the guy was a former soldier. A Colonel. A real hard-assed dude, you know what I mean? Combat vet and all. Lebanon in '05, Gaza in '09. To just…" He shook his head again. "I mean, what the hell happened? And the others? Did they get trapped on this ship that frightened him? And he mentions a name in here that he says they should have listened to," he glanced back at the journal, "Delambre. Who the hell was he?"

Apollo felt the inner tension rising. If he were alone with Byrne, he would have tossed regulations aside and revealed all. Starbuck's presence, and Cassiopeia's as well, was the one thing keeping him from acting. He knew he would _have_ to talk with Adama about this the instant he got back to the _Galactica_.

When he finally spoke, he gave a diplomatic, non-revealing answer: "Well, when we get back, maybe you can translate the rest for us," said Apollo.

"Yeah. No problem."

"And help us figure out the video files," said Hummer.

"Video files?" asked Byrne, glancing up from the papers sharply. "What video…oh right" Hummer had explained the discs found with the journal, in the old ambrosia crate, and described some of the images. Byrne considered a long moment. "Sounds like…like that trip to Hawaii we took, a month before the mission." He fell silent, as if remembering. Then, he laughed softly.

"Hawaii?" asked Cassie.

"Huh? Oh, Hawaii. It's a volcanic island chain, in what we call the Pacific Ocean. Tropical climate. Gorgeous place. A few of us had some time, and so we took off for a week." He got up, and went to one of the stations. Underneath, from a small cabinet, he pulled a metal box, and brought it back over. "Like these?" he asked Hummer.

"Yes!" said the tech, excited. "The same size and all. The ones we have don't have these labels, but otherwise they are very much the same."

"Have a look," said Byrne, and motioned them over to the station. Opening the same slide drawer that Jena had used earlier, he slid a disk into the tray. "One of the few systems aboard that wasn't shaken to pieces, fortunately." He pressed some controls, and images came up. "We had an identical set of discs, on both ships. Just in case. One of the few times NASA got it right," he quipped. Within moments, the screen had cleared, and there were letters across the screen, which they could not read, then an image of a much younger Byrne. He was on a beach, bright sunlit sky above and intensely blue water behind, wearing only a set of trunks. Holding some kind of ball in one hand, and a beverage bottle in the other, he stood next to a net of some sort.

"Wow, Pop," said Jena. "You were hot."

"No kibitzing from the peanut gallery, Child!' he shot back.

"…_that camera out of my face, or I'm going to shove it someplace even auto-exposure won't help!"_ the long-ago Byrne was saying, to whomever had held the device. He was grinning, and from somewhere off-image another voice, with a decidedly different accent, shot back: "_You're so sweet, Kev. No wonder you got divorced."_

"_Die, fool!"_ retorted Byrne, then, the image switched to a group of people, both men and women, playing some sort of game vaguely reminiscent of Triad. Propelling the ball over the net, each side endeavored to keep it in play. At last, a tall, swarthy man that Byrne identified as Gur, tried, missed, and the ball bounced off somewhere. Byrne switched off the image.

"Hey, Pop! I wanted to see…"

"Enough of your father's misspent youth, Jen."

"That looks like the place," said Hummer. "Uh, _Hawaii_?"

"Yeah. Outside the _King Kamehameha_, this swanky club on Waikiki." The ground trembled once more, as he slipped the disc back into it's container. "Okay, time to smile and dial, people. Break time's over."

As darkness fell again, Apollo took a break, and looked up at the volcano. The last rays of the suns were tinting the peak blood red, and glowing chunks of hot lava described crimson arcs against the darkening sky. He checked his chrono. If they had it figured right, the Moon would be up shortly. And, if the old ship's scanners were correct, several thousand _miles _closer to the planet.

Whatever they were.

Alone, his idle thoughts were going back to that horrifying time he and Sheba had spent aboard the Derelict. It had only been seven centars or so, but it had seemed an eternity. Separated from each other and groping their way through darkness or dim, eerie red lighting, and finding the fate of the lost Battlestar _Callisto, and_ the fate of many other lost ships from other races. Including, it was now clear, the Earth ship _Cabrillo. _Hearing the brief summation of those pages of Ehud Gur's journal could only make him shudder repeatedly at the thought of how the horrible fate of The Silent One's lost companions could all too easily have been his own fate, as well as Sheba's. But he and Sheba had the blessed advantage of knowing _who_ Count Iblis was, and how he operated. The likes of Ehud Gur and his companions couldn't have had any conception of Iblis and thus, would have been ripe targets for falling under his influence…..but if they resisted, it would have come at an emotionally scarring price as had been the case with the Earthman..

"Sir?" said Jensen.

"Yeah?"

"Could you move that light around…yeah. Thanks." They were up, on the crude scaffolding that had been erected around the front of the ship, to elevate her nose out of the mud. In what must have been a bloody hard bit of work, trees had been felled, and one by one rammed under the nose, the last one pried up to make room for the next, until it was now about five or so metrons above the dirt. Propped up with logs, her nose gear had been dropped from it's well, and was just about ready to go.

"What?" asked Apollo, gingerly trying to finish welding a piece of fabricated hull plate into place. Byrne had finished hammering it out at his forge less than a centar ago.

"I said, I would have thought that the Thirteenth Tribe would have been further along, technologically, than this, Captain." He patted the ship. "I mean, given all the time it has been since the Exodus from Kobol, surely they would be more advanced."

"Well, we don't yet know what other factors may have come into play, Ensign. Cultural changes, no war with the Cylons, any of a number of things could have made the crucial difference."

"Well, as near as I can tell, he doesn't even seem to _know_ about the Lords, or Kobol, or any of it. Like those folks back on Ki."

"Maybe civilization collapsed on Earth at some point, and they had to rebuild again. Remember when the first unmanned probe from Caprica reached Skorpia? They were hundreds of yahrens behind the other Colonies."

"Oh, right. I remember, studying that back in school," said Jensen. "Something about a war, or a plague. Their whole society slipped back a long ways."

"Yes, and it was only through help from the other Colonies that they were saved. It could be that Earth went through something similar."

"Maybe you're right. Me, I'm just hoping that we can get off this planet before it gets torn to bits. I hope Hummer's calculations are off."

"Well, so do I, but either way, we have to get off this rock." He leaned back, and considered his handiwork. Hades Hole, either it would hold, or it wouldn't. "How goes it with the shuttle?"

"Jolly and I managed to bridge some of her systems, and the engines fire up, but there's no way we can repair the damage to her ports down here. She'd be vacuum inside, sir."

"Yeah. And?"

"Her main nav computer and auto pilot are smashed. She might be flown using the remote circuit, or with the stick, but that's all. I might be able to bridge some more circuits."

"The Vipers?"

"Jolly's is about the same. The remote circuit's okay, but that would be it. We transferred the extra fuel cell into Sargamesh's…" He broke off as the ground rumbled once more, nearly loosing his footing on the scaffolding. Far above, the volcano surged to new life, as more molten rock and lava bombs exploded from her cone. The ground continued to shake for almost a full centon, then settled down. Far above, rumblings and crashing sounds echoed down the valley.

"That was bad," said Jensen. "I thought we were for it for a micron, sir."

"Me too, Ensign,' replied Apollo. He looked up at the tormented peak. Just behind her, the edge of the Moon was rising. Bloated, she looked larger than before. A lot larger. Through all the belching smoke and ash, she looked menacing, like a huge, baleful eye, glaring down at them from above. As if to greet it, a huge glob of lava burst from the cone, followed by another.

"Doesn't look good," said Jensen. Even as he spoke, a meteorite blazed a fiery trail across the vault. Another soon followed it.

"Okay, it looks like we're done here, Ensign. Let's get inside."

"Amen to that, sir."

"You were right," said Hummer, to Jensen, inside the ship. "It's worse."

"_How_ worse?" he asked.

"The Moon is closer than predicted. By about two thousand kilometrons, approximately. That means the gravitational stresses are higher than I had calculated."

"Bottom line," said Starbuck.

"We have less than one planetary day, before that moon hits the limit, and starts to come apart. After that…" he sighed, and turned back to his instruments.

"And after that?" pushed Apollo.

"After that, we will have approximately between five and six centars, before the first pieces of the fragmenting moon strike the atmosphere. Provided…"

"Yes?"

"Well, from what I can scan with the instruments we brought with us, there are massive tremors already ripping across the southern hemisphere. I read huge tidal waves and massively increased volcanism. The whole southern continent is being shaken to pieces."

"But we'll still have a window of escape?" asked Jena. "Won't we?"

"Oh, yeah. Provided that the gravitational stresses don't pull the planet apart, before then."

"Let's hope," said Starbuck. As he spoke, the ground shook again, and he lost his footing. Jensen helped him up. "Let's hope real loud."

They worked all night, fitting, welding, hammering at the forge, or fabricating circuits. By dawn, the ground motion was near to continuous.

"What the hell?" said Byrne, as they went outside. The stream that ran down from the mountains had dried up during the night, leaving only a muddy runnel in the ground. The wind had also picked up, and the sky had taken on a blood-red hue. He looked up at volcano, spewing ash and lava even more violently than before. Almost directly above them, the Moon was still visible through the incarnadined sky, bloated and menacing.

"Something's cut off the water, Pop," said Jena.

"Yeah. Probably a landslide, up the mountain…Holy…Captain Apollo!" he shouted.

"Yes?"

"Finish what you can as fast as you can. We have a new deadline."

Despite it's problematic state, Apollo ordered Jensen to try and take off in Sargamesh's Viper. Recon the area above the crash site, and report. Despite all the mud and dents, the ship lifted off, the fuel valve staying shut for the moment.

"Well?" asked Apollo.

"Commander Byrne was right, sir," replied Jensen. "There's been a gigantic landslide, both down from the volcano, and the sides of the valley. It's completely blocking the valley, about twelve or so kilometrons or so above you. But it gets worse."

"Yes?"

"The whole area behind it is full of ice that slid off the mountain. It's a huge turbid lake, and there are streams flowing into it. It's rising fast, and I don't know how long it's going to last, especially with all the quakes. Sending scan to you, sir."

Apollo got the image, downloaded from the Viper. It was truly frightening. More and more rock, ice, and water was flowing chaotically into the new lake, choked already with trees and mud, and the tremors were not letting up. Even without the threat of the Moon breaking up, it was only a matter of time, until the debris dam gave way, sending billions of tons of water, trees, and mud screaming down the valley, directly towards the _Saint Brendan._

"Oh my God," breathed Starbuck.

"Orders, sir?"

"Okay, Jensen. Get back to the Fleet. Apprise Commander Adama of the situation, and request assistance. And try the other Viper, too."

"On my way, sir," said Jensen. Flipping a switch, he tried to activate the auxiliary control circuit in Jolly's Viper. Much to his surprise, it answered. Receiving the remote commands, the battered fighter lifted off, and slowly made it skyward, following Jensen. Pulling back on his stick, he climbed up, out of the atmosphere, and was soon on course for the Fleet, the other ship slowly following in his wake.

_Wonder if the shuttle will answer…_

"Okay, we have at most a few hours, before that thing gives way," said Byrne. "Let's start the countdown."

"Can she make it?" asked Cassie.

"Anybody wanna push?"

"Uh, not really."

"Failure is not an option," replied Byrne.

"My old Flight instructor used to say that," said Starbuck. "A lot."

"Funny," replied Byrne. "So did mine."

Another centar passed on the Bridge with no word. During that time, Adama was able to find other things to occupy his time. A patrol from Baltar's BaseShip had returned from its rear-flank probing for hostile pursuit, and had perfunctorily transmitted all data on the patrol sweep to the _Galactica_. Colonel Tigh had then exchanged cordial words with Command Centurion Moray, and informed the Cylon that they continued to await word from their advance probe investigation of the potential clues to Earth, and that a full update would be given to Baltar upon the return of the expedition. As a matter of tact, Tigh did not reveal that the probe was overdue making a report, but neither did he say anything that could be construed as misleading like "all is going well". Since things were not at a danger level status, it could thus be said that the situation regarding the probe's failure to report was purely a "local authority" matter that the Cylon crew needn't concern themselves with, just as a centar's lateness of their rear-flank patrol in reporting back wouldn't have automatically justified an immediate alert aboard the _Galactica_.

_All part of the dangerous tightrope act we're all walking now,_ Adama thought. Once the matters pertaining to the Cylons were done, he looked back at Athena who was still monitoring the situation. A faint shake of her head indicated that there was still nothing to report.

Adama sighed and went back to the Upper Level, where Sheba remained hunched over the railing, her expression still one of stoic neutrality. Seeing her in that position on the command level of the Bridge, eyes sweeping the area and missing nothing, couldn't help but make Adama think of her father, Commander Cain. Her appearance was all her mother, but the posture and bearing was all her father.

_Who knows, maybe she'll end up commanding us all one day_.

He came back up to her and gently put a hand on her shoulder, "Maybe you should turn in, Sheba. If anything comes in, I'll telecom your quarters directly."

"No," she shook her head, her tone matching her expression. "No point doing that. I'd just be warming a bunk if the whole thing was stretching on and on with no word."

"I'm really bending the rules about off-duty personnel being on the Bridge, Sheba," he decided he needed to start playing the role of Commander instead of father-in-law. "If nothing happens in the next few centons, I am going to have to ask you to leave."

She smiled crookedly at her father-in-law. Cain had once said the very same thing to her, shortly after the disaster at Molacay. "Just be generous in your definition of a few, at least."

Before Adama could reply, Athena's voice piped up. "Commander! Scanner shows one Viper has just entered range. On an approach vector."

"Identification?" he waited while she went through the routine.

"Scanner's still messed up from the interference we're getting so we can't get the precise…okay, transponder code shows it to be from Captain Apollo's flight."

"Just the one Viper? What about the shuttle?"

"Nothing else," Athena shook her head. "And….the Viper's not using turbos, either. She's below lightspeed." She paused as she made some adjustments to her scanner to try and get past the interference. "Second Viper now coming into range." She flipped some controls. "Something's wrong."

"What?" Adama came halfway down the steps from the Command Level. Sheba hung close behind him. From here, he could see the screen. The blip indicating the Viper was intermittent, as if encountering intereference.

"The second Viper is not transmitting any transponder code. In fact, she's totally silent. She's following the first ship, however. On course for the Fleet."

"Make contact."

"She's not yet in voice range, sir."

"Then do it the micron ship _is _in range," the Commander was emphatic. "We need to get some answers."

"Yes sir."

"Commander," Tigh came over to him, "Once you make vocal contact with them, you'd better remind them about transmitting their data to Baltar. If something's gone wrong and Baltar doesn't get immediate notification according to procedure, we'll doubtless have more trouble on our hands."

"Lords of Kobol, thanks for reminding me," Adama grunted. "This matter's getting more tangled by the centon."

"At least Lydia hasn't returned."

The Executive Officer's remark broke some of the tension, "Which I suppose proves the adage that the Lords never give us more than we can handle at a given centon."

Adama nodded with a smile, then resumed his position on the Upper Level, to await word. And he knew that he wouldn't have to pull rank on Sheba and order her off anytime soon.

_Chapter Eleven_

The wind continued to pick up, as the castaways struggled to get ready for liftoff. Byrne, Cassie, and Starbuck carried several more kilons of junk out and dumped it, to save weight, while Hummer, Jolly, and Apollo worked with Jena to finish linking up cables from the engine compartment to the flight deck. About a half-centar after Jensen had left, they had a serious thrill when tremors shifted the logs holding up the nose of the ship.

"What are you doing?" asked Apollo, wind almost to a shriek now, as Sargamesh climbed down from the increasingly untrustworthy scaffolding.

"Increasing our chances, sir," replied the Zohrloch.

"What?"

"Grav-repulsars, sir," said the other. "I pulled two from the shuttle, and fixed them to the nose of this ship. It will give us an extra chance. Provided they will actually work."

"Okay. Good thinking, Lieutenant. Just let me know next time when you go off like that."

"Yes, sir."

"Now get inside."

"Sir!"

As Sargamesh headed towards the hatch, Apollo looked around. Far above, the volcano was belching a vast fiery column of lightning-ripped ash and steam several kilometrons into the atmosphere, larger than before, explosions and rumblings reverberating down the valley. The sky was torn by ash-filled clouds, as winds carried them across the landscape. Already, tiny particles of warm ash were settling across both land and ship, growing thicker by the centon, mixed with a few drops of rain. He looked up at the Moon; across it's face, a huge fissure was spreading, that he needed no binocs for.

"Captain Apollo?" came a voice over Apollo's commlink.

"Yes?"

"Okay, get ready to yank the supports away."

"On your mark, Commander Byrne." Apollo moved to one of the trees near the shelter, and grabbed a thick rope. On Byrne's word, he pulled as hard as he could.

Nothing. He yanked again, but still, the rope refused to budge.

"Felcercarb!" he hissed, and drew his laser. Burning through the heavy ropes, he leapt back, as Byrne's contraption kicked into action. A log set into a crude stone socket began to spin, spewing smoke, the rope around it winding up, as a large rock plunged from the tree above. The ropes tightened, and the logs supporting the nose of the _Saint Brendan_ were pulled free, with a loud crash. The ship dropped down, hard, onto her nose wheel, and the former supports rolled away down the hill. "Frack, that was clever," muttered Apollo, as he ran for the ship's hatch.

A huge fresh explosion from the volcano caught his attention, and he looked up at it once more. A new, even more massive eruption of ash was vomiting forth, as the volcano moved into it's death throes. Even before he could reach the ship, a huge crack began opening on the volcano's flank, from the vent almost half-way down, lava pouring forth like spilled ambrosia. The mountain's disintegration had begun.

"Returning Vipers distance to Fleet, one hundred microns and closing. They should be aboard in under a few centons."

"Then why aren't we getting vocal contact?" Adama felt an air of frustration entering his voice.

"It's clearly solar flare interference, sir," Athena said. "They'd have to go to hi-gain to override and that would use up too much power, and I guess for whatever reason, they can't do that.."

"Great," Adama grunted as he realized he had more than one problem on his hand, "Get me Baltar on com-line Alpha. Now."

Rigel handled the connection and a micron later, Adama saw the Human traitor staring back at him.

"Ah, Adama. Thank you for getting in touch. I _was_ wondering about the matter of your returning probe."

"They've run into some difficulties, Baltar, that are preventing them from contacting us verbally. I'm certain that the same problem accounts for their failure to perform a data relay to your ship at this time. As soon as the pilots are aboard, I'll expedite the matter of getting that information over to you as soon as possible."

Baltar smiled back at Adama. The smile was too reminiscent of the old Baltar, and it had the same kind of effect on Adama of hearing fingernails dragged over an old-fashioned writing board.

"That's very considerate of you, Adama. Your gesture, I assure you, does not go unnoticed or unappreciated."

"I'm glad of that," Adama said, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Colonel Tigh will get back to you in the event the mission status changes."

Adama didn't wait for an acknowledgment and ended the transmission. And then, he decided that the urgency of the situation required a change in usual protocol.

"Colonel, I'm going down to Alpha Landing Bay to meet those Vipers. Stand by for further instructions from me."

As he made his way out, he glanced over and could tell right away that Sheba was going to accompany him. He gave her a slight gesture with one hand, and moved on.

Five centons later, Adama and Sheba stepped off the turbo lift to Alpha bay just in time to see a disheveled Jensen emerging from the Decon chamber with the speed of a thunderbolt, indicating that he was anxious to relay some new information.

It only took one centon for Jensen to state the nature of the situation, and as soon as Adama realized what it meant, he hurried over to the nearest wall-telecom.

"_Bridge!"_

"Yes, Commander?" answered Colonel Tigh.

"Increase speed to flank. Inform all ship's Captains that we are moving ahead, to the planet where Apollo went."

"Commander!" Tigh protested, "If we do that, then that means….."

Before the Executive Officer could finish, Adama lowered his head in agonized frustration. "Right, right! Tell Baltar that I want his…I _request, _that his ship get underway and accompany us. We might as well make this a joint rescue operation if we have to, but get us moving!"

"Right away, Commander," replied Tigh. He turned to Omega, and relayed the order and then prepared himself for his own chat with the commander of the Cylon BaseShip.

"Cryo-pump pressure, engine one?" said Byrne, in the pilot's seat of the _Saint Brendan_.

"Nominal," replied Jena, next to him. Arrayed in the other remaining seats or whatever they could use for purchase, the Colonials watched as the others went through the final pre-flight.

"Two?"

"Also nominal."

"Voltage, ignition system?"

"Steady."

"Cabin pressure?"

"Twelve point one."

"Weight?"

"One hundred twenty one above red-line."

"Understood,"

"Maybe we can…"

"No, there's nothing more, Jen," said Byrne, sighing heavily. He coughed, deeply and hard, then looked back at Cassie. "We're stripped to the bone, hon."

"But…"

"Well, maybe there _is_ something more," he said, unstrapping himself from his seat, and rising. He began to move aft.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Cassie. Outside, the wind was getting nastier, the sound of it, and the volcano, audible even inside the ship.

"Gonna get rid of some excess weight," he said, matter of-factly. He moved to brush by her.

"Pop?" Jena turned to look at him, brow furrowed.

"Keep on the pre-flight, hon."

"Sit down," said Cassie, blocking his way.

"Get out of my way," said Byrne, in a low voice, "or I'll have to get nasty."

"You wouldn't be the first, Commander. Now, either sit down…"

"We can't make orbit with me aboard. Not under these conditions. You know it and I do. Now either…"

"This is…"

"If we keep bitching about it, there won't be a planet left to orbit."

"Pop?" said Jena, unbuckling as well, and moving to her father. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, hon. Get back to the pre-flight. Now!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on, here" She looked from her father, to Cassie. "Cassiopeia? What is all this about?"

"Jena, do as I say!" demanded Byrne. He pushed past both women, and headed for the after hatch to the flight deck.

"NO!" screamed Jena, as it all clicked. "No, Pop! No, you can't!"

"Hon, it has to be this way! You can't take off with me on board."

"Then I'm not going!" shouted the girl! "I won't leave you behind! I won't..!"

"Azgul's teeth!"

"This is pointless!" shouted Apollo. "We all go. Now!"

Far above them, unable to any longer withstand the pressure of billions of tons of water and debris, the newly formed dam exploded in a rush of mud and water. With ever-increasing speed, the muddy wall of death began to tear down the valley towards the ship.

"Get back to your seat!" bellowed Cassie, gripping Byrne by the shoulder, and turning him to face her. He pushed her away.

_Crunch!_

Her fist came away bloody, as Byrne reeled from the blow to his face. He looked to his fingers, coming away red, then to her. Anger exploded in his eyes, and he grabbed her…

And got no further, as a blue hand yanked him around, and a blue fist followed Cassie's. With a grunt, Byrne dropped to the deck.

"Come on!" said Apollo. "Let's get going, or we never will!"

They put the semi-conscious Byrne back into his seat, and Jena belted him in. Cassie gave him another shot something, as she did so. She spared Sargamesh an odd look, but said nought. The Zohrloch returned it with a half-smile. As she resumed her own seat, the entire vessel shook like a maniac had grabbed hold of it.

"Tremor!" said Hummer, eyes on his scanner. "Biggest one yet."

"Let's go!" said Starbuck. "Frack the pre-flight! Let's launch!"

"Right!" shouted Jena, and reached over to her father's side of the controls. She flipped up a bank of switches, and there was a hard _thump_ from somewhere behind them. A dull rumble began to grow, till it was the deep, throaty roar of rockets sprung to life.

"We're doing it!" said Hummer. "We're moving!"

"Our nose wheel is in the mud!" said Jena. "I don't know…"

"Sargamesh?" said Apollo. The Zohrloch nodded, then pressed a button on a control pad in his good hand. With a sharp jolt, the front of the ship seemed to rise up, and they gained speed.

"Nose is up," said Jena. "How…?"

"Later!" said Apollo.

Aboard the BaseShip, Ayesha had spent a part of the day making her usual rounds of touring the facilities and exchanging as many pleasantries as she could with the various Centurions on duty. The more she could present a friendly demeanor to them, the more it could help build up their willingness to trust working with Humans in general. And from her standpoint, that was just as important a task for her as insuring that her husband stayed in line and entertained no thoughts of making a power grab.

She had planned to return to their quarters and wait for Baltar to return, but she then became aware of the BaseShip picking up speed. Usually, the easiest way to detect a new sensation of speed was to feel a greater rumbling beneath one's feet, plus the tiny lag in the inertial damping, and this time it was quite evident. It was clear that the BaseShip was going faster than at anytime since Ayesha had came aboard.

She decided she'd need to come to the Command Center, which she had full access to, and see what was going on. When she arrived, she noticed her husband hunched over a computer in consultation with Command Centurion Moray.

"What's happening?" she asked.

Baltar looked up, not expecting her presence. "It seems that Adama's probe to a nearby planet has run into difficulties. We could be needed to assist in rescue operations."

"That would be a first," she said as she digested that information. "A very….productive step forward, wouldn't you say?"

There was only the slightest hesitation in her husband's voice, "Yes, I would say that."

But even as he said it, he became aware of another voice from some unseen quarter whispering in the back of his head over and over. _Productive? Hardly. It just shows how subservient you are now. Is that what you really want? Is that what you really want?_

It took the one-time traitor all of his strength to push the sound of that too-familiar voice out of his head and get back to work.

"We will enter the solar system in one centon, Commander," reported Tigh. "The BaseShip is six centons behind us. We have the planet on concentrated scan, now. Punching through the interference."

"Hails?"

"No response, sir. But scan reports that the planet seems to be breaking up."

"Lords of Kobol!"

Shaking like a victim of the DTs and with her engines screaming, the _Saint Brendan _took to the air for the first time in a quarter century. Buffeted by ever-increasing winds and now a driving rain, she skimmed along the surface, only slowly gaining altitude as the elements seemed to fight to keep her planetbound.

"Something coming up behind us," said Jena, switching on a monitor over her head. On the fuzzy image, they could see the black boiling wall of mud, screaming after them at, said the radar, close to a hundred miles an hour.

"That dam must have burst!" said Hummer, scanning. "It's gaining on us!"

"Like hell!" said Byrne, coming back to sensibility. He looked at Cassie, and scowled. Then turning to Sargamesh: "I'll beat you to death, later!" Growling, Byrne turned to the view ahead, and the instruments. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah, we got a problem, Pop."

"Ya _think_, child?"

"Altitude…fourteen feet," said Jena, eyes glued to the instruments. "Twenty feet. Twenty-five."

"Sucks," said Byrne. He looked at one gauge. "Damned wind! Fuel down to fourteen minutes."

"That sounds bad," said Jolly.

"Anything we can do?" asked Apollo.

"Yeah. Pray!"

"Sargamesh, can you get any more out of those grav-pulsars?" asked Apollo.

"No. There was time only for two, sir. And they are not all that powerful."

"Speed?" Byrne asked his daughter.

"Hundred eighty. Altitude…two-hundred feet." She reached up, and pulled back on some control. "We are at maximum climb angle. Some of the control surfaces are sluggish." She looked at the monitor. Behind them, their campsite disappeared under a boiling black wall of mud and rock. _Mama's grave! _"And this wind…"

"Yeah, I was afraid they might be. Engine pressures nominal. Manifold temperature looking good." He slid the throttles forward some more. The ship bucked. "Damned wind! Hell, more like a bloody hurricane."

"Pop?"

"Nothing for it, child. We're gonna have to risk it. Altitude?"

"Two thousand and climbing," replied Jena. "Three. Four. Forty-five hundred." She kept her eyes on the console, and fingers crossed. "Now at six thousand. Eight thousand."

"Holy shit!" said Byrne, looking at the radar. "Object ahead. Meteorite. We'll intersect."

"Banking!" cried Jena. They all swayed, as the ship cut hard to the left. Out the ports, the Colonials could see the fiery tail of the incoming body. A moment later, a flash of light confirmed impact. Behind them, the entire valley vanished under the impact. Sargamesh looked at Hummer, and he confirmed the hideous truth. The Moon's breakup had begun.

"Commander!" shouted Apollo.

"Yeah?"

"We need to try and contact the _Galactica. _That frequency I gave you.'

"But our stuff is only speed of light, Captain. Stone Age by your standards. Besides, some of those circuits are iffy, at best."

"Even so, we need to try."

"Okay." He looked at Hummer, and gestured sharply with one hand. The tech moved to the communications console, and did as instructed. Apollo turned back to the Byrnes.

And hoped.

"Commander, we've finished the calculations." Omega said, "Safe range from planet will be at minimum distance in five centons."

"Tell Baltar to lay back about one centon of flight time from where we'll assume position," Adama said, carefully weighing all his decisions like at no other time. "When we're in position, we'll need to send out small craft to scout the area for Captain Apollo."

"Boomer just reported in from Alpha Launch Bay," Tigh said, "He and five others from Red Group are ready to go."

"Tell them to launch as soon as we reach that minimum safe distance." He looked up and saw Sheba still standing firm on the Command Level. Under ordinary circumstances, he knew she would have also been anxious to launch, but Sheba also had the sense to realize that after a full work period she wasn't going to be at a full state of alert readiness compared to Boomer and the Red Group pilots who were all coming off a full sleep period and in fresher condition. Plus, he was certain that when all this was over she wouldn't have wanted Apollo to think that she'd given in to needless worry.

"Commander, Baltar's on Com-Line Alpha again."

"Patch him through," Adama knew that the urgency required him forgetting all about the distastefulness of the détente and doing only what was necessary to help the endangered people.

"Adama, those are very disconcerting signals I'm getting from the planet," Baltar said, "Your people clearly don't have much time if they're going to get off that rock safely."

"We need all the help we can to scout the area, Baltar," Adama knew the time had come to _really_ see how much this set-up could work. "I have five Vipers ready to launch in five centons when we reach the minimum safe distance range. Can you have an equal number of Raiders launched at the same time to assist the operation?"

"That will be no problem, Adama. Command Centurion Moray will see to it. Instruct your pilots to coordinate communication frequencies and telemetry, and we should have no problem locating your men."

"Granted." And then on pure impulse, added, "Thank you, Baltar."

It was only after the transmission had ended that the incongruity of it all hit him once again.

Byrne watched with alarm as his fuel gauge dropped lower and lower. While they had outrun the flood, and evaded incoming debris, the diversion and the massive winds had sapped both time and fuel. Now at just over thirty-thousand feet, he was certain they'd exhaust their remaining fuel before making orbit.

"Look!" said Hummer, pointing out a port. More debris from the dying Moon was headed their way. "Can we miss it?"

"We have to," said Byrne. He looked at the instruments. They were above the hideous winds, now. But now…"Jen?"

"Fifty-thousand, and picking up speed, Pop. Engines show nominal."

"Good." An alarm sounded.

"Pop, we have an undervolt on bus B." She flipped a switch several times.

"Damn…okay, switch over."

"Switching." They both looked at the fuel. Barely two minutes left, they'd burned so much climbing through the higher gravity and the hurricane-force winds. As he listened to Hummer try and contact the _Galactica_, he realized that he had little choice. He'd have to cut in the nucleonic drive before fully exiting the atmosphere. While operating in an atmosphere was no problem, the system had been badly shaken around by everything that had happened since leaving Krylamic, and he was uneasy about it. If they ran out of fuel, and the nucleonic drive failed…

"Okay everybody, we have…one minute to thruster shutdown," he announced. "Jen?"

"Still climbing, Pop. Ninety-eight thousand, and climbing. All engine indicators look good."

"Sure hope so."

"One hundred-fifteen thousand. One hundred twenty…"

_Thump._

"What was that?" he asked.

"Engine three just quit. We're losing speed. Altitude…One hundred sixty thousand."

"Will we make escape velocity?" asked Jolly.

Byrne didn't answer.

"Picking up a signal, sir," said Athena. "On gamma frequency…one eighty five. It's them, sir!"

"Put it on!"

"…_tica, this is Technician Hummer, aboard the Earth vessel _Saint Brendan_. We are attempting to make orbit. Planet's moon is breaking up. Repeat, planet's moon is breaking up. Ship's condition doubtful. Please, respond on this channel!"_

"Open a channel, Athena." ordered Adama.

With an alarm, and a flashing light on the console, the ship told Byrne what he least wanted to hear. Their fuel was down to less than one minute. He swore, and tried not to show hopelessness to Jena. Then it was gone, and they were still too deep in the planet's gravity well to escape.

"Damn it!" shouted Byrne. "I told you to leave me behind!"

"Forget that," said Apollo. "What can we do?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe rubber bands and a propeller?" he snapped.

"How about something a bit more helpful?" snapped Starbuck.

"Engage the nucleonic drive, and bloody hope. Grab on."

Deprived of power, the ship was slowing, and beginning to level out. Soon, she would begin to arc back towards the planet, a burn-up in the atmosphere the probable outcome. Fully aware of this, Byrne reached over to another bank of switches, and flipped them up. Then, he pressed a red button.

The panel under his fingers erupted in sparks, and he swore as he pulled his hand away.

"What happened?" demanded Starbuck.

"It's broken!" yelled Byrne. "What does it bloody look like? Nucleonic drive not responding."

"Pop, that means…"

"I know, hon. I know."

"Commander," said Boomer, in his Viper. "This is unreal. The planet is coming apart, and so is it's moon." He transmitted his visual scans to the _Galactica._

"Can you see the others?" asked Adama.

"Not yet, sir. We're still scanning. Cylon Flight Leader Orion is taking his team around to the backside of the planet, and we're handling the near side. All data relays headed back to both of you."

"Maybe…" began Starbuck.

"Yeah," said Byrne. "This will either do it, or kill us all." He turned back to look at them. "Nice knowing you folks. It's been a real slice." He turned back to the controls, and began…

"_Towards_ the planet? Pop? What are you doing?" cried Jen.

"Gravity, honeybunch. Gravity."

"Oh God! I was afraid of that!"

_Chapter Twelve_

"The readings are getting worse, Commander," Tigh could feel the tension rising.

"Negative shield," Adama kept his tone even. As soon as the shield opened, they could see the planet in its death throes, it's moon raining down on it. The sight was unlike any natural phenomena the Commander had ever witnessed.

Sheba finally allowed her stoicism to crack, "My God, she's coming apart!"

"Like Carillon, in slow motion," observed the XO.

"Keep scanning for any vessels!" Adama barked.

"Scanning, sir," replied Athena, trying to hide the inner tension within herself, knowing that the close proximity of the vipers to the planet meant that her husband was just as much at risk as her brother was. "But we're still getting too much localized interference. The breakup is pumping out massive interference across the spectrum. The Vipers and Raiders stand a better chance of picking them up."

"You aren't doing what I _think_ you are, are you?" asked Apollo.

"Probably."

"I thought so."

"Okay, don't think about it," said Byrne, manipulating the controls.

"I think he's been hanging around you too much, Starbuck," said Jolly.

"Oh, right. Blame me."

The curvature of the planet was full in the windows, and it seemed that Byrne was heading right back for it. From his vantage point, Apollo could see from the indicator that their speed was picking up, even without Jena reading it off to her father. Beyond it, the Moon now looked more like a squashed pastry than a natural satellite, as it seemed almost to crumble as he watched it. Chunks, ranging from dust motes to the size of mountains, were already screaming towards the planet, criss-crossing their view with fiery trails.

"Starbuck?" asked Cassie.

"I think I know what he's trying. It's insane, but it just might work."

"Jolly was right."

"Good to know before I die," moaned Jolly.

The _Saint Brendan _was now diving, like a rock, dropping deeper into the planet's increasingly distorted gravity well. As Byrne had hoped, their speed was picking up dramatically. Hopefully, he could get it up enough that the anti-matter drive would engage. Unfortunately, so was their skin temperature, as they burrowed deeper into the air. Already, the space outside the ports was blurring due to the heat sluicing off the nose.

"You!" said Byrne, turning to Sargamesh. "Wanna be useful? Over there!"

"Where?"

"That station. Do what I tell you."

Sargamesh moved to the station indicated. He flipped up a plastic cover from a bank of instruments, and waited.

"Why do you have to increase speed in order to engage the drive?" asked Cassie.

"Because that's how those jerk offs at NASA designed it."

"But that's…"

"Dumb? Well, yeah. Maybe you could write 'em a letter! You won't get any argument outta me."

"But this could kill us all!" said Hummer.

"Really? No kidding? Thanks!" He looked back at Sargamesh. "Okay. Those three switches. Flip them up in order, from left to right." Sargamesh complied. "Now…oh, shit!"

"What?" asked the Zohrloch.

"Meteor! Dead ahead!"

Out the ports, they could see a chunk of the disintegrating moon, the size of the _Galactica_, heading their way. It seemed as if they had no way of avoiding it.

"Come on!" Byrne was shouting, as he fought the controls. They could hear several of the maneuvering thrusters fire, but the ship seemed slow to respond. "Come on, turn! Turn, you whore from hell! Turn…"

Cylon Strike Commander Orion's Raider flew lead for the group of five that scanned the backside of the rapidly disintegrating planet. The scanners were set to maximum power levels and extreme sweep, to try and pick up any sign of a manufactured craft (Cylons as a general rule would use the term "manufactured" in the same way that humans would use the term "manmade" to distinguish from natural objects) escaping the planet. But it was clear that the five Cylon ships could not help but feel the effects of disruption caused by the planet's rapid decay, and more than once it caused their crafts to buffet slightly.

"Colonial Vipers remaining in place on the opposite side at equal distance," the pilot in the left seat of Orion's ship noted.

"Then they are maintaining the same risk factor to themselves that we experience," the command pilot said, "Continue with scanning."

That was the only detail that mattered to the Cylon pilot. That if this détente meant all that Baltar had promised it would mean, then there would be a true sense of equality in the arrangement. If there was the slightest sign that the Vipers were maintaining a more safe distance and letting the Cylons take the greater risk, then that would be enough to renew doubts about the relationship.

But so far, all remained as it should be from their standpoint.

"Patrol Two to Patrol Leader," one of the other Raiders reported. "My scanner detects a manufactured craft attempting to escape the gravitational pull of the planet. It is flying in a most….irregular fashion."

"Transmit telemetry to Colonial Vipers and to all commands!" Orion intoned back.

"Transmitting."

"_Galactica_ Core Command, the Cylon patrols have spotted them!" Boomer found it even more incredible than the joint battle they had participated in two sectars ago. "We're receiving their telemetry. We've got them!"

"Repeat, Boomer!"

"I have them, sir. That ship. She's trying to escape the planet's gravity. My God, what kind of lunatic is flying that thing?"

"Give me your telemetry," ordered Adama, suddenly having visions of Starbuck."And you and the Cylon team, pull back to a safe distance, there's nothing more you can do for them where you are!"

"At once, sir. Switching."

Cassie could almost hear the meteorite scream by, as the ship turned, scant microns to spare. Even so, it was followed moments later by a _crump, _as something hit them.

"What's the readout?" shouted Byrne, to Sargamesh.

"Eight-four. Magnetic field four percent within nominal. Temperature in the green zone."

"Blasted…it'll have to do. Helmets on, everyone!" Ahead, the planet's surface was growing more distinct, as they screamed for it. Apollo could see huge swathes of the surface being scoured by tidal waves of unimaginable size, as whole continents were inundated. Huge flaming shards of the dying Moon were slamming into the surface, debris cast back up into space. Mountain ranges crumbled. Massive fissures were opening up, and it looked as if the planet's interior was being squeezed out, like glowing dentifrice, upon a tortured and dying landscape. Vast areas were obscured, cloaked by ash from the ripped crust, or fires as forests and grasslands burned. Byrne and Jena fought to raise the ship's nose as much as possible, then he turned to the Zohrloch:

"NOW!' shouted Byrne, and Sargamesh slapped the indicated switch. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, then the whole cabin was filled with a slowly rising hum. An odd vibration suffused the ship, then they were all thrown back against their seats.

"Pop! It's working!"

"Sure…as hell hope so! The warranty's expired!"

The _Saint Brendan _suddenly lurched, as she gathered new speed. Shaking so hard it seemed she might come apart, she shot ahead, up and away from the dying planet, as the anti-matter drive engaged. She clawed for space, painfully putting more distance between her and the crumbling world below, screaming out into space like a missile on target.

"What the Lords was _that_?" said Giles.

"Their ship!" replied Boomer, as the Earth vessel ripped by them. "_Galactica, _they've done it! They've escaped the planet!"

"Excellent!" said Adama. "Can you make contact?"

Byrne watched the planet grow slowly smaller astern on his monitor, as their speed finished climbing, and began to level out. Now freed from the stress of gravity and atmosphere, the _Saint Brendan _had ceased shaking, down to a steady vibration.

"Distance?" Byrne called.

"Six thousand," replied Jena, reading her instruments. "Eight. Eleven thousand."

"Speed?"

"One hundred ninety-five. Two hundred and ten, and leveling off. Distance from planet…fourteen thousand. Fifteen…"

"Skin temperature readout?"

"Back down. Currently…two-hundred."

"Thanks. Good job," said Byrne, to Sargamesh. After double-checking cabin pressure, he indicated they could pop their helmets. "You did it, Bub. Great job." He turned away, then back. "I'm still gonna beat you to death, later."

"It's a date," replied Sargamesh.

"How are we?" asked Jolly.

"We're in one piece, if that counts" said Byrne, checking his instruments. "Much to my surprise, I might add. Now, if we can just find this…"

"Sir!" cried Hummer, at the comm station. "We're being hailed."

"_Apollo? Apollo, do you read me?"_

"It's Boomer!" said Starbuck. "Hey, Boomer!"

"Pop, look!" said Jena, pointing. Out the port, they could see a Viper maneuvering along side. Then, a second one. "Pop!" said Jena. "Something's on the radar!"

"Maybe it's…holy crap! It's huge!"

Apollo moved out of his seat, to get a better look at the controls. He turned to the rest, and gave the thumbs up.

"That's the _Galactica,_" he told Byrne. "Throttle back, and make for it. About… two degrees left, here."

"Right."

"How the…how could anything be so big?" asked Jena, seemingly of no one. The Battlestar's nose was to them, seemingly ready to blot out the sky. As requested, Byrne cut back on the speed, banking around the enormous vessel. The Earthers took in the sights of the Colonial warship, both struck dumb for the moment. Obviously, Apollo told himself, their own world's technology was far behind, in terms of spacecraft engineering.

They came around, with difficulty, and lined up with Alpha landing deck. Back to the here and now, Byrne lined his ship up with the bay, and dropped his landing gear. The cavernous bay swallowed up everything else as they were drawn inside, slowing till they matched velocities, and then she finally touched down.

"We're down," reported Jena. "I guess the landing gear held."

"Good to know," said Byrne. As the ship taxied toward the spot Apollo indicated, he could see people approaching them, from somewhere deeper inside this metallic colossus. He brought her to a full stop, and they could hear _Galactica _control over the speaker. Both Byrnes began shutting down systems, as Boomer and Giles came in for a landing behind them.

"The Commander is on his way down," said Apollo, commlink in hand. "They signal that decon is ready."

"Okay," said Byrne. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying _Miracle Spacelines. _The only spaceline where Lady Luck is your co-pilot."

They unbuckled, got up, and after a final check of his ship, Byrne led the way aft. Down to the airlock. He keyed in the code, and with a hiss, the lock opened, and he looked out. He sent out Cassie and Jena first, then Hummer and the pilots. Finally, as Captain, he was the last to leave his ship, stepping down the extended ladderwell.

He looked around the huge bay, still trying to take in the sheer size of this ship. Hell, the fact that is was actually a _ship._ It was surreal, in a way. Almost like something out of _Star Trek_, or some TV show, rather than reality. As he turned from looking over his now-silent ship, he turned. A older man was stepping off a lift. White-haired, dressed in some sort of blue uniform, he projected an obvious air of command. Must be this Commander Adama dude they kept referring to.

He and his party were hustled along, towards a series of booths. Apollo told him these were decontamination chambers, and it was required, after time in an unknown alien environment, to go through decon upon returning. Made sense, he decided. Once inside, they were bathed in a pulsating series of waves. They felt good, Byrne had to admit, and sat down on the small bench along one side of the chamber. There were instructions, on a plaque, but he could of course read none of it.

"We're all secure now, Commander Moray," Colonel Tigh reported calmly from the Bridge. Protocol always dictated that when he contacted the BaseShip, he speak with the Command Centurion, his "opposite number", rather than Baltar, who dealt directly with Adama only. "We have the craft aboard, and all our Vipers are now recovered. Are all of your fighters safely aboard?"

"We are secure," the Command Centurion replied. "Standing by for your next instruction."

"Proceed back to the main Fleet heading. We'll be following alongside you and then we will be resuming normal Fleet position," Tigh then didn't skip a beat, "Please extend my personal thanks to Strike Leader Orion for the job his patrol did. Their being the first to spot them, was most helpful."

"They will appreciate the fact that they feel useful," Moray said. "That feeling is also shared here."

As Tigh ended the transmission, he couldn't help but feel a sense of irony that while his doubts about Baltar were likely to remain constant, he now felt reason to have fewer doubts concerning Baltar's crew.

_Irony? The universe is dancing on the ceiling!_

"We made it, Pop," said Jena, emotions all in a whirl. "We did it!"

"Yeah," said Byrne, feeling his adrenaline surge beginning to ebb. "We…" he broke off, coughing again. "We did. Gotta admit, kid, I had my doubts there, for a while."

"I didn't," said Jena. "Not with you flying her."

"Ah, hero worship. Aptly placed, of course," smiled Byrne, feeling a slow drowse come over him. "Cassie, is this supposed to work like this? Make us sleepy?" He yawned, followed by a cough.

"It can," she replied. "It did to me the first few times."

"Well, I sure feel like I could pull a Rip van Winkle. I could just…" He stopped, once more coughing. Only this time, it didn't seem to want to subside, as a kernel of fire seemed to erupt inside his chest. He hacked, deeply and painfully, the pain like a knife in his side. He collapsed to his knees on the deck as he fought for a breath.  
"Pop! What's wrong? What is it?" Jena cried, at once on the deck beside him.  
"Life Station! This is Cassiopeia in Decon Chamber One. We need a medical team here, stat!"  
Byrne hacked again, and saw his hand come away from his mouth, spattered with blood. He gazed dumbly at it in surprise, as he continued to sputter around frothy red mucous. This wasn't supposed to be how it ended. He had just escaped that godforsaken rock with his daughter, goddammit! He was supposed to have a _future_! These people had an actual _cure_ for this crap! His vision narrowed as he gasped and choked for air. It was like drowning . . . on your own life's blood! His vision narrowed and he hit the deck hard, feeling the cold surface beneath his cheek.

"Oh God! Pop! What is it? What…" His daughter's voice seemed to be coming from far away.

"Take it easy, Kevin, I can help." Cassie's too.  
Then something obtrusive was shoved onto his face. He batted at it, as he coughed into it, filling the meager space with another chunk of bloody goo. Something or someone held it in place, but it would be a cold day in hell when Byrne would let anyone smother him to death with a hunk of plastic. He grabbed at the offender, pushing desperately away, as he prayed for the strength to defend himself, a strength that was rapidly ebbing. _Jena! _Abruptly he felt a sharp dart at his neck, and his limbs slowly slackened with the effect of some unknown drug . . . _Bastards! _Feebly, he swatted at them as his suit was cut away from his torso and some bloody blinking box was waved over him._  
_"Commander Byrne, you have a hemothorax . . ."

_Is it returnable__? _he tried to say, but nothing worked. Muffled voices spoke over an alien tongue over him, figures above him smeared to a blur, and he groaned aloud as his chest suddenly flared in pain. Every breath was a struggle, and he fought to sit up, as others fought to push him back to the ground. Bathed in an artificial red light, he was going to die here. There was no question in his mind. _At least Jena is safe now! Our baby is safe, hon!_ he thought, when with another deep, gurgling wheeze for air, his eyes rolled back, and everything went black.

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

"Doctor?" asked Adama, entering the LifeStation. It was alarming to see every tube known to health care coming out of the newcomer. His color was pasty, and Adama could just about count his ribs, they were so defined on his thin frame. The man couldn't have much in the way of reserves.

"He'll make it," replied Salik, standing outside the recovery room hatch and slipping out of his scrubs, with Jena and Cassie.

"What was it?" As ever, Adama was worried about another mysterious alien disease laying low the people of the Fleet.

"Cancer, Commander."

"Cancer? But that's…archaic."

"For us, perhaps. Apparently, not on Earth. But nonetheless, that is what it was. He had a malignant tumor in his left lung that was killing him."

"He'll be alright, now?"

"He should be. The tumor had grown around a blood vessel in his lung. The blood vessel would have already been compromised, since it was inflamed, dilated and scarred from his recurrent symptoms, and with all the excitement, adrenaline, and surges in blood pressure he's been through today, it finally ruptured. Really, it was only a matter of time, so he's fortunate it happened here. The tumor is out, and what's left of his lung tissue is repaired."

"What's left of it?" asked Jena. "How much is left?"  
"Enough to live a perfectly normal life . . . Or as normal as any of us can expect, "Dr. Salik promised, with a wan smile. "At until he's strong enough to begin regen therapy,"

"Regen?"

"Yes. After your father's had time to recover, and we are certain his system is clear of all malignant cells, we can begin therapy to help regenerate his lung. Help it grow new tissue, to replace what has been destroyed by his illness."

"You can grow new organs?" she asked, clearly surprised. "Like for transplants?"

"In many cases, yes. Your father is a perfect candidate, in fact."

"Thanks, Doc,' said Jena.

"He'll need some follow-up treatments, of course," said Salik. "Cytolytic injections, cytolytic CD8 T cells, as well as immune system therapy, until he's ready for the regen, but yes, he'll make a full recovery."

"When can I speak with him?" asked Adama.

"You and about half the population of the Fleet," said Salik, with a laugh. "A few centars, yet, at least, Commander. The man just had major surgery."

"Understood, Doctor," replied Adama, recalling how he'd felt after his own time under the scalpel. "I'll be in the War Room, debriefing the others. Call me if there's any change."

"Will do, Commander."

"Cassiopeia?"

"Coming, sir."

"Hey, what about me?" asked Jena, hands on hips. "Hhmm?"

"Uh, Miss…" said Adama, turning to her. He could not escape noticing her filthy, unkempt appearance, and lack of manners. He'd say that she looked like a cave-dweller, but by relative comparison he reasoned that that might be… _unkind_ to Pili and Kudur-Mabug.

"Byrne. Genesis K. Byrne," replied the girl.

"Uh, Miss…this is a military debriefing. I'm afraid…"

"Don't be afraid, I don't bite. Much. Hey, I was there too, ya know! What am I? Chopped liver?"

"Uh . . .?" He furrowed his brow.  
"I know more about the _Saint Brendan_ than any of your people. I'm co-pilot for Christ's sakes!"

"Very well. Cassie?"

"I'll get her cleaned up, and bring her along, Commander."

"Good. Debriefing in fifteen centons."

As soon as Adama was out in the corridor, he right away saw Lydia, the faintest of smiles lining her face, waiting for him.

"Adama, I was just looking for you." Her tone was pleasant, as she oozed over towards him. "I understand you're about to have a debriefing with one of these Earth inhabitants."

"Yes, in fifteen centons," Adama then skipped a beat. "I was in fact on my way to notify Colonel Tigh that he should telecom you in the VIP quarters and suggest you be present."

The faint knowing smile on Lydia's face was enough to tell Adama that she knew he was being insincere and would gladly have tried to avoid having her present for the actual de-briefing, keeping her awareness confined to an "after-the-fact" recap ahead of the rest of the Council members. But as long as Lydia was going to force the issue, he wasn't going to offer any protests at this point. He simply couldn't take the risk.

_Thank goodness Jena will be presentable at least_, he thought as they started to walk together to the Council Chamber.

"Incidentally, Adama," Lydia said, "There's something I should let you know. Since my duties as Vice-President require me to be informed at the earliest possible convenience of any major developments, then I think expediency should require me to be in closer proximity than my quarters on the _Rising Star_ usually permit."

Adama stopped and frowned at her, "What are you saying, Siress Lydia?"

"That with your permission, I will have my possessions transferred here to the _Galactica_, and that I take up permanent residence in the VIP quarters." Her smile widened just a bit, "In the interests of expediency."

Adama stood with a frozen air that revealed none of the inner rage inside him. This was turning up the screws ever so slightly, in a way that he couldn't possibly reasonably object to.

Yet.

Still, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of saying yes right away.

"What you propose is not unreasonable," he said, measuredly. "But I think out of deference to the rest of the Council, this proposal should be introduced as a formal Council resolution for them to vote on, insomuch as it represents a change in the codification of the civilian governmental structure."

Her smiling expression conveyed the silent message that she respected his brilliant deflection of the matter in a way that would not come off as a challenge to her.

"I'm willing to wait until the next Council meeting," she finally said, her tone somewhere between deferential and condescending.

_But just what _won't_ you wait for?_ Adama thought with disdain as they resumed walking towards the lift.

"This is unreal," said Adama, as he perused the preliminary scans of the Earth vessel. That, and his people's reports, Apollo and Starbuck relaying what Byrne had told them of his adventures, left him both pleased and speechless. Here, at last, was proof, proof positive, that Earth was real, and not just a fantasy. A man _born_ there, a spacecraft _built_ there. Fleetingly, he wondered what the late Sire Uri, ever the one to push for abandoning the quest, would have said, if confronted with such proofs.

_Thank God Antipas is no longer a problem!_

"I'm surprised that old bucket made it," said Jolly, on Apollo's right. "She was pretty banged up, Commander."

Jena snorted.

"Well, all that matters is that the ship _did_ make it," replied Adama. "And in doing so, has brought us irrefutable proof that Earth truly exists."

"How do you guys know about Earth?" asked Jena. Now showered (Her first. Ever.), and dressed in something more than skins and a ragged old flight suit (one of Athena's civilian outfits which no longer fit, actually), she looked almost civilized, Adama decided. Her manners, her bluntness, her rudeness in interrupting, would, however, take some time to polish.

"Our recorded history speaks of it," he replied. "Many thousands of yahrens ago, it was known to our ancestors."

"And you have never been there?" Lydia chimed in for the first time. She had for the most part been remarkably deferential, saying little but watching the two of them intently, hanging on every word and absorbing all the information as best she could.

"Heck no. I was born on that planet. Dad's from Earth, of course." She dropped her eyes a moment, with a distinct aire of sadness, Lydia thought. "Mom, too."

"My sympathies," said the Siress, with a sincerity even Adama found hard to doubt, which made him doubt it even more. Jena looked up at her, then at Cassie again.

_Of course,_ Adama said to himself. _Her entire life has been spent with her father. She has never seen another woman aside from her mother._

Suddenly, Adama realized the real reason why Lydia would have found it important to be at this meeting, beyond the matter of courtesy to her position as Vice-President. If she could meet with Commander Byrne and his daughter personally, and get them to form afavorable impression of her right off, then it meant she could potentially have two very important allies down the line, in the event of any potential intrigue against him. Kobol knew that if the first Earth people could think Lydia to be reasonable, it would certainly be all the more hard for him to undercut any power grab in the future.

"Well, we have been seeking Earth for quite a while," Adama went on, pushing these troubling thoughts aside for the moment. "Ever since we fled our home planets."

"Planet_s_?" asked Jena, cocking her head to one side. She looked at the people around her. "You have more than one?"

"Our home system was known to us as 'The Colonies'," replied Adama, explaining. Then it was more questions. Their time on the planet. The ship. But Jena's knowledge of her ancestral world was limited to what her father had told her, and what she had gleaned from the various disks she had watched. Fuller explanations would have to wait for Byrne's recovery.

_Beep._

It seemed he was now awake. Adamacould go down to the LifeStation to talk to him. But to his disgust, that would also mean letting Lydia tag along as well.

Adama of course had endless questions, and Byrne answered them as fully as the language barrier permitted. Though still feeling weak from his medical ordeal, the former Navy pilot and astronaut seemed to want to talk. He told Adama of the original mission, their launch and mysterious transit across unknown light-yahrens of space. Their incarceration by the Zykonians, their escape, and the _Saint Brendan'_s crash landing on the uninhabited planet.

As Adama listened to his narrative, he occasionally glanced over at Lydia to see if the Council Vice-President's persona was identical to what it had been before with Jena. Lydia didn't disappoint him on that score. A constant, sympathetic demeanor, punctuated by the occasional remark that indicated further sympathy and understanding for what Byrne had gone through. And it was clear that Byrne appreciated the kind words from a woman of Lydia's elegance.

_What am I supposed to say? Watch out for this devious woman? If only it were that simple!_

He looked awful, Adama decided, even after the man had been shaved and someone had cut his wild hair. Doctor Salik had confirmed Cassie's earlier data. Both Byrne and his daughter were undernourished. It seemed that the planet's soil, at least in the area where they had lived, and thus their food, had lacked sufficient amounts of certain important minerals needed by Humans, while sporting others inimical to Human health. Once their ship's original rations, and then dietary supplements, had run out, and they had been forced to rely on the local food sources, the process had begun.

"Once they start eating a healthy diet again, they'll improve," said Salik. He and Adama watched Byrne, through the window of the isolation ward, straw in mouth, taking his first sustenance, in liquid form, post-op. "As soon as you're through with them, I need to run full physicals on everyone who was down there, Commander. Just to be on the safe side"

"Of course. I'll send them along, presently, Doctor."

A centar and a half passed before Adama was finished with all those who had taken part in the mission. Lydia had, mercifully by this point, excused herself from the rest of the proceedings, seeing as how she was less interested in the technical and military minutiae of the mission, and more interested in establishing herself before Byrne and Jena. Finally, only Apollo remained and it was clear from him son's demeanor that he needed to speak to Adama privately.

"Well," Adama said when they were alone, "It's been quite a…..remarkable time for us all, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," his son nodded, "I got to admit, the feedback I've been getting from Boomer and the other pilots over how the Cylon squadron handled themselves in the rescue effort is….kind of making what's left of the bad feeling over the détente subside more and more."

"If that's so, I'm certain that Tarnia will be glad to know about that, and that she won't need to have more sessions with warriors who are still grumbling," Adama said, "I guess maybe we needed that first true case of teamwork since the battle to make more of us realize just what _is_ possible in this whole arrangement. That we can get more used to the idea of working with _one_ group of Cylons at least."

"Unless there are more Mattoons lurking in our midst," Apollo said, dolorously… "Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm glad this didn't come up during the rest of the debriefing because this is something that we could only talk about privately. Or at the most with Sheba and Colonel Tigh present."

His father's eyes narrowed. "The Derelict."

"Yes, Father. We managed to show him a couple of pages from the "Silent One's" journal. He was able to read it flawlessly and there's no question but that the "Silent One," a scientist and former Warrior named Ehud Gur, and his crewmates ran up against Iblis, and he was the only one to escape."

Adama looked as if he'd been hit.

"And you didn't mention what you know about it."

"Of course not, Father. I'm operating under the security restriction you placed Sheba and myself under regarding that. I couldn't break that while Starbuck and Cassiopeia were present too."

"Understood," Adama nodded, "Then….I suppose, in fairness to Byrne, but _only_ Byrne, we should tell him what we know about that. If he can be trusted to keep that information secret from everyone else----,"

"We'd have to impress that point upon him greatly, Father," Apollo said, "Because it's not going to be easy revealing this and explaining it all. I mean," he tried to fish for right words. "You didn't see what it was like there, Father. Part of me is very glad you didn't. It was like…like looking straight into the very pits of Hades Hole."

"I know," he said quietly. "But it is important that if we have information that _he_ would consider important, the last thing I should do is withhold it and risk alienating him.  
Especially when it looks as if Lydia wants to make a good impression on him."

His son nodded in understanding, having come to understand just how the Siress liked to operate. "But for now though, I'm going to hold back on this until after I'm convinced he's fully recovered and is in topflight physical and mental health to handle such a revelation." The Commander added: "As you've said, he needs to know this without being any further traumatized."

"God in heaven, look at it," said Byrne, two days later, gazing out a port at the wreckage of what had been his home for so many years. Still in his robe from LifeStation, he stared out at the remains of the now dead world. The moon had completely broken up, the gigantic pieces of debris slamming into the planet with horrific force. The planet itself had fractured, literally splitting asunder, it's own cooling rubble joining that of it's former satellite in an ugly swirl of destruction. The two now looked like a big, lopsided ball of debris, slowly spreading out.

"It's so ugly, Pop."

"Ya got that right."

"I…I wish Mama could…"

"I know, I know," said Byrne, arm around Jena. The door chimed, and it was Cassie. She entered the guest quarters assigned them (originally for visiting dignitaries, the President, or an Admiral), and proceeded to give Byrne his therapeutic injection for the day. He had to admit, whatever was in the stuff, he was already feeling a hell of a lot better. That, and his incision was healing at a rate unheard of back home.

"When are we going to lose the guard at the door?" Jena asked, bluntly.

"A lot of people want to see you," replied Cassie, giving her father another follow-up medical scan. "Some, I'm afraid, don't want to wait. It's for your protection."

_Where have I heard that, before? _Byrne reflected. _Half-way across the bloody universe…" _

"Yeah, we've been getting all sorts of calls," he said aloud. "I can't understand it all, but someone called Cyrus…uh…" He indicated the printouts on the table. "Heck, I can't read it."

"Cy…" She picked up the paper. "Oh, _Siress._ I see. That's just one of the members of our Council. Some of them can be pretty pushy."

"Oh right. Of course. Where's my head?" he replied. "It's a title, and I met your Siress Lydia. And there was someone else. Said they were Zara. From something called the _IFB._"

"God, journalators!" sighed Cassie. "Our own entertainment and news media service. To put it kindly. They can be as annoying as the Council. At least you can switch _off_ the _IFB_."

"Press, and politicians," said Byrne, face twisting with distaste. "You should see some of ours, back home. Bloody snollygosters! If there's one thing I can't abide, it's some slick network talking head butting in, and trying to make a name for themselves by doing a hatchet job on the military. My uncle put up with the same crap after Vietnam.

"Vietnam?"

"Uh, I'll explain later. Sounds like some things are truly universal."

"I would guess."

"Still, I have to admit, Your Siress Lydia is a lot…_cuter_, than most politicians I've met. She's treated both Jena and myself most kindly."

Cassiopeia knew that the last thing she should do was try to convince him otherwise on that point. If Commander Byrne wanted to learn the truth about what kind of person Siress Lydia really was, that was something he'd have to find out for himself.

Okay, you are doing fine, Commander Byrne." She folded up her equipment and slapped him on the shoulder. "No trace of any of those malignant cells remaining. Your lung function is improving, and your immune system is showing increased strength."

"Glad to hear it."

"Doctor Salik will still need to see you in another four days for your follow-up physical."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," he quipped, casting a skeptical look at the guarded entrance. "Like a bird in a gilded cage."

. "And Commander Adama would like to see you. Both of you, in his quarters, as soon as you're ready."

"Yeah. I'll slip into this…uniform, I guess, and be there. Uh, how do I get there?"

"Can you take us?" asked Jena.

"No, I have to get back to LifeStation. Lieutenant Sheba will escort you."

"Sheba?" said Byrne. He smiled, and shook his head.

"What?" asked Cassie.

"Just getting used to the names, Cassie. Ancient gods, modern coffee stands, now Biblical queens." He shook his head, chuckling. "It's a lot to get used to."

"Uh, yes. I see."

"Utterly unreal," said Adama, some centars later, listening to Byrne. With them in his quarters were the landing party from the planet, as well Colonel Tigh. Sheba, out of both curiosity and Apollo's involvement, had wished to stay naturally, but had been scheduled for patrol.

_Thank the Lords, Lydia isn't here this time_, he thought. A meeting of the Council the previous evening had seen Lydia formally introduce her resolution that the Council Vice-President be assigned permanent quarters on the _Galactica_. There had been some mildly disapproving words about the idea from Siress Tinia when the matter came up for debate, and Sire Pelias had suggested that with the Zykonian transport device, residing aboard the _Rising Star_ was not really an issue. He even broached the problem of losing both President _and _Vice-President in an attack on the _Galactica_, but when it was clear that the rest of the members didn't seem to find it unreasonable, even Tinia had ultimately cast her vote in favor of the resolution, Pelias alone voting no. Now, Lydia was spending the day overseeing the transfer of her personal effects from the _Rising Star_ to the _Galactica._ As a further courtesy to her, her personal shuttle would now be based aboard the warship, and her personal pilot, Jarvik, would be given an honorary Warrior's commission, with the rank of Lieutenant.

_Distasteful, but at least it means she's not here today. _

"That's what _we_ said," replied Byrne. "And I still don't understand it. Jen did, a lot better than I could."

"Your late wife."

"Yes. She was a Doctor of Astrophysics. A real genius, with several published papers. But our main flight data recorders, what was left of them, were damaged by the transit, and the back-ups were taken by the Zykonians. We had the tapes from the main units, but they were pretty messed up by whatever it was that happened to us. We lost tons of data. But, based on what we _did_ have, and what she remembered, she theorized that it was some sort of wormhole, or quantum tunnel effect. That somehow, we either stumbled on to, or inadvertently created, a tunnel through space." He looked over, and noticed Sargamesh nodding. "Yes?"

"If I may, Commander?" asked the Zohrloch. Adama nodded. "I think that Captain Byrne is correct. Something not dissimilar occurred during my own world's early experiments with non-chemical thrust propulsion systems. Ship suddenly and uncontrollably racing to wild speeds, then vanishing, never to be seen again."

"And you think it might be the same thing?"

"Yes. I was reminded of the very early days of radio communications, long before semi-conductor technology, or even tuned circuits, were perfected. Often, receivers had large coils, for detection, and by turning them, at angles to one another, one could increase or decrease the sensitivity. From what Captain Byrne tells us, the two vessels were at precisely such an angle to each other, when the anti-matter drive was engaged." He demonstrated with his hands, first level, then banking to the left slightly. "I suspect that some sort of feedback was established, on a quantum level, between the two anti-matter drive units. And, once a certain energy threshold, arising from the positron/electron annihilation, had been reached, that this acted to tear open a hole, or tunnel, in the very fabric of space."

"You mean like…the ships acting as a single vessel?" asked Jensen.

"Yes," replied Sargamesh. "One my homeworld, most hyperdrive systems utilize coils, that when energized cause a distortion in the space-time fabric. From what Commander Byrne tells us, it was as if each ship, by virtue of it's proximity and geometric relationship to the other, effectively operated as such drive coils." He looked to Adama. "What your engineers call 'pulse generators'. Either ship, alone or further apart, would have functioned as expected. But, as it was, they achieved trans-light velocities, essentially by accident." He turned back to Hummer, who's face had lit up like a computer in overdrive, then to Byrne." The ships were pulled into the very vortex they had created, causing them to accelerate far beyond anything that the designers had anticipated, and allowing them to traverse untold light-yahrens within mere centars, perhaps mere moments. Neither planned for nor foreseeable. It was, as you say, a one-in-a-million thing."

"That was Jen's idea, too," said Byrne, nodding. "Although, like I said, she didn't have a lot of hard data left, to go on."

"It might be interesting to see what our computers can come up with," said Hummer, already running some computations through his head. "We could run some sims."

"I agree," said Adama. He turned back to Byrne. "Then?"

"Well, after we'd been on the planet for about, oh, a month, our time, we decided it was uninhabited. No signs of any intelligent life forms, at least that we recognized as such. Just animals and birds."

"There were those things we found, Pop," interrupted Jena. "Remember? The waterfall, over by the cliffs?"

"I was getting to that," he replied. "A few years ago, when we were out hunting, Jen found what looked like a metal pipe, sticking out of a sandbar. Crushed and pretty corroded, but it looked artificial. Since we never found anything else, I didn't know what to make of it," he shrugged. "Long-dead civilization, or just something lost from a passing ship."

Byrne went on, relating how he and his fellow refugees, Kling, Jena's mother, and Cedric Allen, from the Royal Australian Navy, had all survived the crash-landing of their ship, but been totally unable to either make contact with anyone, or to discover where they were. Slowly, painfully, they began to try and build a life, such as it was, on the new planet. Food and water were available, there seemed to be little in the way of dangerous organisms, and the climate was surprisingly benign.

"Jena came along, a couple of years after we'd landed," Byrne went on. " I was worried, because it was a difficult pregnancy."

"Didn't you have your medical data with you?" asked Cassie. "You're ship had a small medical bay."

"Yeah, but none of us were doctors. Tim had gone off with the others on the _Cabrillo, _and all we had left by that time were the emergency first-aid supplies. But," he looked at his daughter, and smiled, "she made it. Beautiful baby girl. And smart, like her mother."

"Ah, Pop," said Jena, clearly embarrassed.

"Then the pirates came?" said Jensen.

"Yeah." He described for Adama the raid by the pirate ship. Originally looking only for fresh water to replenish their supply, they had been surprised to find people on the remote, little-known world. Surprise quickly turned to greed, and they had soon shown their true colors. "I killed one of them, with the .50 cal we had aboard, then I was hit with something. Knocked me out. I found two of them dead later, so I'm guessing Cedric got one. When I came to, I was in the woods, and they were gone. "

"I saved you," Jena announced. "Dragged ya into the trees. But Mom…" She broke off, stiff-lipped.

"I take it your wife was killed," said Tigh, sparing a glance at Jena. He wouldn't have thought her capable, at so young an age, of dragging a full-grown man anywhere, let alone into a forest. Still…

"Yeah." Byrne was quiet a moment, as he recalled the horrific scene. He didn't choose to go into detail, certainly not in front of Jena. Her mother had been used, there was no other word for it. Used brutally, over and over, then mutilated when they were through with her. Not all the blood at the scene had been hers, so she had obviously gotten hers in, before the end. Despite his pain and howling rage, Byrne had buried her, erecting a rough cross over her tomb, the heads of her foes interred at her feet. The rest of pirate corpses he had thrown to the carrion birds.

"Anyway…" he said at last, back to the here-and-now, "Cedric was gone. I never found a body, so they must have taken him. But, they never came back, for which I'm thankful."

"I cannot imagine the difficulties," said Adama, "trying to survive in such a place, with a small child to raise."

"It certainly was no picnic. Trying to see that she had some sort of education, and still scrabble for enough food. Our rations were long gone by that time. Then, after a while, I decided that that we had better try and repair the ship. Get off that planet."

"And go where?" asked Tigh.

"I don't know, Colonel. But at the time, it seemed like anything was better than just sitting there, waiting for the pirates to come back. Besides, once back in space, maybe, maybe…" he shrugged. "Then, after the asteroid had passed, and I realized that the Moon's orbit was a terminal one, I knew we _had_ to get off that rock."

"Well, you did quite a job," said Apollo. "I quite frankly didn't think it would make it."

"Frankly, neither did I," laughed Byrne. "I was surprised she held together. Or made it into space."

"But we made it, even with the extra weight," said Jena, looking at her dad. "Right?"

"Yeah, okay," he acquiesced. "Next time, I won't try and jump ship."

"What do ya mean, _next time_?" Jena countered.

"I'm curious," said Jolly. "Why did we have so much trouble? I thought the planet's gravity was similar to Earth's."

"It was," replied Byrne. "Point nine oh three of Earth's, in fact. But when we originally launched, we had extra fuel tanks attached to each ship, plus external solid rocket boosters. Once empty, they were jettisoned, and we were on internal fuel. We switched over to the other drive for the trip to Mars. That's the fourth planet in our solar system. Once there, we'd use some of it for braking into orbit, and then landing. Since Mars has a gravity that's only thirty-eight percent that of Earth, takeoff would have required less fuel to get us back into space. There was also an automated chemical factory, sent on ahead, and waiting for us, plus a smaller version in each ship, as a back-up. Using elements from the Martian atmosphere and it's own cargo, it would synthesize fuel, so we could take off with full tanks."

"Again," asked Tigh, "what was the purpose of your voyage being clandestine?"

"Yes," said Adama. "Surely the pushing back of the bounds of knowledge should be open."

"I wish more people thought like you," said Byrne. "It's like this. Our space agencies have acquired considerable data, to indicate that we aren't the first to visit the other planets of our system."

"Indeed," said Sargamesh, stroking his beard.

"Do you know who?" asked Jensen.

"No. At least I don't. But, this knowledge has been kept from the general public. What _has_ leaked out has been ridiculed, along with those who exposed it."

"But why?" asked Adama, leaning back in his seat. "That makes no sense."

"Politics. Some groups, in the scientific community, feel that such knowledge belongs only to the favored few. Themselves, basically. Some religions on Earth are utterly devoted to the idea of Earth being alone in the universe, and some governmental authorities fear mass panic. Keeping in mind, that it was only about five hundred years ago that it was theorized by a man named Copernicus that the Earth rotated around our sun, and not the other way around. It was the biggest breaking news since they suggested the Earth wasn't flat, after all." He chuckled as they smiled and laughed quietly. I know, it's idiotic, but such is the case, I'm afraid."

"Copernicus . . ." Starbuck murmured quietly to himself, glancing at Adama when the Commander nodded at him. He hadn't missed the reference either.

"So your mission was kept secret, for this reason?" asked Apollo.

"Partly. About a year or so before our launch, a previously unknown asteroid was discovered. A big one, at least the size of a major city. One that crosses the orbit of Earth, on it's way around the sun. Based on the best evidence they had, NASA calculated that it had about a ten to fifteen percent chance of hitting Earth, when it passes near, in 2045."

"You can't pin it down any closer than that?" asked Starbuck.

"No, not with what _we_ have. So, the decision was made to rush the already planned secret Mars mission, and begin setting up a colony base there."

"So that if Earth was hit, some would survive," said Apollo.

"Exactly. The ships were developed in secret, at a base that officially doesn't even exist. We call it Area 51." He sighed, looked at Jena, then continued. "When I was tapped for the mission, I was let in on a lot. My country has in it's possession examples of extraterrestrial technology. Ships of unknown origin, that have crashed on our planet."

"Incredible," said Adama.

"But true. I saw them. Ships unbelievably advanced, centuries beyond anything we have, or even dreamed. For years, our scientists have been working to back-engineer the stuff, to figure out how it all works. They've made some great strides. Some of the technology in the _Saint Brendan _was gleaned from what they have, there. But, like I said before, I thought they were trying too hard, putting too much new and untried technology into one ship, too soon."

"But if time were critical, maybe they had no choice?" offered Tigh.

"Yes, that's what they said, Colonel. Anyway, yes, our mission was to deliver the first cargo and personnel to Mars, for setting up a base there, prepatory to eventually terraforming the planet. The disks you saw were part of it. Each succeeding ship would eventually transfer millions of volumes of material. Our whole cultural history, in case things went bad."

"And there's no way to deflect the asteroid?" asked Adama.

"Not with the technology we had available in 2011. They hoped that they might succeed in developing something, but in case not…" He shrugged. "So, that's basically it."

"Well, your ship seems to have held up remarkably," said Apollo. "Your scientists seem to have done this back-engineering quite well."

"Yeah, I guess so. "

"If you used advanced alien tech," asked Starbuck, "why did you use chemically-powered rockets for take-off? Why not anti-grav, or something like that?"

"I guess there are some things they haven't figured out, yet. So with time a factor, they went with the tried and true. That, and the cost per ship. And since we would be leaving personnel and equipment behind, we'd have a lot less weight aboard on take-off, so plain old rockets would do the job."

"I see. So taking off from the planet here was a one-shot gamble," said Starbuck, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the destroyed world.

_Trust you to see it in terms of gambling,_ thought Tigh.

"Yes. Only, as you see, _nothing_ went as planned. And we still couldn't have done it without your contribution," said Byrne, looking at Sargamesh. "Those things you stuck on the hull, those anti-gravity things? They gave us the edge. Barely."

"Indeed.

"Yep. Without those, we'd have not gotten as far as we did. I owe you our lives." He extended his hand. Sargamesh took it.

"One does one's duty," replied the Zohrloch.

"Well, you did a great job, teaching your daughter to fly," said Starbuck. "I saw the way she handled the controls. Real slick."

"Not bad," said Jena, with a certain smugness. "Not bad, at all. Hey, I can fly a spaceship, _and_ field dress a buffalo. Or whatever those things were."

"Matter of life and death, Lieutenant," said Byrne, looking at Starbuck.

"Well, I had the best teacher around."

"The _only_ teacher around, kid. The only teacher."

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

"So, what becomes of us now?" asked Byrne, later that day. Adama had given he and Jena a brief tour of the _Galactica, _and the former Navy CAG had been suitably impressed. As a carrier man, he had been fascinated to see how this culture, so much more advanced than his own, nonetheless had so much in common with it, at least as far as ships were concerned. Despite the obvious differences, the enormous Battlestar nonetheless had a familiar feel to it. It _felt _like a carrier. (Though, as he told Jena, he was pleased not to have to be constantly worrying about bashing his shins on the "knee knockers".) He practically drooled, watching a Viper patrol prepped, fueled, and launched, and couldn't wait to get near one. He admitted as much.

"All in time," Adama had told him. For the moment, he and his daughter were to relax, heal, gain strength, and find their feet in a new environment. And, of course, to provide the answers to some long-standing mysteries.

The Silent One.

Byrne had already begun working with Horace and Pliny, the former linguists, in creating a translation matrix, for English. For all it's technical sophistication, the Languatron had myriad problems dealing with both English verb tenses, as well as the numerous idioms, leading to the occasional misstep. Some amusing, some embarrassing. When he had been discussing the basics of flight operations with Starbuck, and wondered how often the Viper pilot had "screwed the pooch"…

Well…

But for now, it was time to take a break. Adama and the Byrnes were shuttling over to the _Rising Star, _for the first real furlon the Earthman had had in decades. As before, he and Jena were astounded at the sheer size of Colonial ships. The _Agro Ship One_, the _Celestra, _the _Astrodon, _the _Gemini, _the _Century, _the _Malocchio, _the Prison Barge_._ Upon catching sight of the old Starliner, Byrne declared it was 'bigger than the _Constellation, _Jen." For her part, the girl just shook her head.

Both were silent, as they came in for a touchdown in the liner's landing bay, although Adama could tell that Byrne was straining for a chance at the controls. They debarked, went up through the liner's many decks, and met Zeibert, Chief Steward, at the entrance to the Elite Level's Main Dining Lounge_. _The pace was…_fabulous! _It was "like the Waldorf-Astoria", Byrne declared. It also reminded him, he told Jena, of the opulence of New York's Plaza Hotel and the time he'd eaten at the Palm Court Restaurant there**.** They were seated, and with some translation help, were soon tucking into something they could both only describe as sumptuous.

"Sole," Byrne announced, after a taste. He was clearly greatly surprised. "That's Dover Sole if I ever tasted it!" Adama informed him that several types of sea food were grown aboard, in special tanks, to supply the liner's kitchens, other foodstuffs being supplied by the Agro and livestock ships. "Well, it sure is unreal, Commander. Never thought I'd taste _this_ again."

"Where is everyone else?" asked Jena, looking around. Aside from a few staff, and a giant potted plant over in one corner, the place was empty.

"You're it, for tonight," said Adama. "The place has been specially reserved for you two. I thought it best if you had some time to yourselves, and weren't descended upon by a pack of the rude and curious, just yet."

_Lydia being at the top of that list._

"My thanks, Commander," said Byrne. Like the fish, the wine was also excellent. It was, he was told, from Proteus Prison, one of the few surviving examples of the now-vintage ambrosia produced there. He poured for both of them ("Yeah, Jen. I think my co-pilot's old enough."), then looked across the room.

"If you'll excuse me a moment," said Adama, and did so. Almost at once, music began to fill the room. Music strange and otherworldly, yet…

"I know that tune…_Gershwin? _What the hell?" said Byrne. He turned, towards the source of the melody, and saw…

"Pop?"

"Of all the…" he said, and got up. Crossing the floor to the large "potted plant" in the corner, he called out: "Ozko!" He put a hand on the hulking object. "Oz?"

"Hello, Kevin," replied the Calcoryan, partly turning his vast bulk, to fix his single eye on the Human. "I was wondering when you were going to notice me."

"Well cut off my legs and call me shorty! They told me they'd met up with you, but…"

"It is most agreeable to see you again, Kevin," said the Calcoryan, in passable English. "I was pleased to learn that you had survived."

"Well, this is just…hey, I want you to meet someone. My daughter. Hey, Jena!" He motioned to her, and she got up from her chair.

"Indeed! I was not aware that you had any seedlings."

"Times change, old buddy!" He extended an arm, to gather Jena in, as she approached. She was taken aback at the sight of the bizarre creature, but Byrne motioned her closer. "Ozko, this is my daughter Genesis. You remember her mother."

"Of course. Greetings, Genesis," said Ozko, extending a tentacle. In another, he extended to Byrne a coin.

A gold 1933 United States $20 "Double Eagle".++

"My old Double Eagle? You still have it? Good lord, Ozko!"

From the hatchway, Adama watched the reunion, then smiling he turned to Zeibert. The Steward nodded, and they left the three to themselves.

Elsewhere, deep in the bowels of the Battlestar, all the surviving Zohrloch warriors had gathered. Sargamesh had, after much thought and meditation, come to a most serious decision, and, for what he intended, required witnesses. Normally, one's blood-kin would have served, but since he _had_ no kin here, those of his race who had survived their own adventures would serve in their stead.

"Come you forward," said a voice. Sargamesh looked up, and saw Korl, his old shipmate. Dressed from neck to floor in a sand-colored robe, the other was joined by the rest, all attired likewise. Bidden, Sargamesh entered the room (actually the assembly area, below the Council Chamber, the use of it obtained through Sire Pelias' good offices, who was also watching the proceedings), dressed in his old Imperial Fleet uniform, and moved to stand in front of Korl. From another hatchway, Hummer entered, likewise in uniform.

Korl nodded, and one of the others brought small smoldering pieces of wood, each in a small metal bowl, and set them in the entryways, each blocked by one of the smoking chunks.* (Pelias had also disengaged the fire alarms.) Then, once thusly "sealed in", Korl spoke, his usage old and archaic.

"Sargamesh kor Tog, this is he of whom thou hast spoken?"

"It is."

"Thou dost claim this one as friend?'

"I do."

"Thou standest, to bring him in?"

"I stand."

"Approach," said Korl, to Hummer.

Hummer drew closer, and both he and Sargamesh stood before the other man. They looked at each other, then Korl nodded at Sargamesh.

"Thou knowest why thou art here?'

"I know," replied Hummer.

"Of thy free will thou standest here?"

"Of my free will."

"I would speak." Sargamesh inserted

"I shall hear." Korl replied with a curt nod.

Sargamesh turned slightly, to address the Human "I have wronged thee, Humuhumunukunukuapua'a, son of Lawai'a-nunui, son of Kapunakane-aloha'ia, son of Ho'ohanohano -hanai Mauloaamekauakau. Defamed thee. Spat upon thine honor. Held thee of no account. Yet, in such spite, thou hast saved the life of this undeserving one."

"I have," replied Hummer, in the best Eridese he could manage. Sargamesh drew from his belt a _sta'dych, _or curved dagger, and held it out the Human, hilt first. Hummer reached out to take it. Sargamesh laid his other hand atop Hummer's.

"What thou hast saved, is also thine to dispose. What dost thou choose?" **

"That thou mighest live, and serve." The Zohrloch let go of his other hand, and Hummer gave Sargamesh back the blade, hilt first.

"So be it," said Korl. Reaching over to Sargamesh, he rolled up the right sleeve, and then did the same with Hummer. Sargamesh took the weapon, and cut a long wound in the flesh of his inner arm. Hummer couldn't help feel a churning of the gut at the sight of blue blood, but kept his face calm. This done, Sargamesh did the same to Hummer. Then, dropping the knife, he grasped the other's arm, and pressed the wounds together.

"This one be my brother!" said Sargamesh. "Let none gainsay it, be he slave or god!"

"_So be it!" _intoned all the rest.

"So be it," repeated Korl. Then, once the two men had separated, Korl gave to Sargamesh a small clay jug, containing water. Turning to one of the walls, Sargamesh threw back his head and howled, the scream reverberating through Hummer like a cold blast of air. The Zohrloch did this four times, one in each direction, then put the jug to his lips, and drank, Then, he offered the jug to Hummer, who did likewise. ***

"_SO BE IT!" _they all intoned again, and the jug was smashed upon the floor.

"Welcome, brother!" said Sargamesh, then the rest greeted him in turn.

The Byrnes were virtually speechless, which for Jena was something new. As they gained strength and worked to find a place here, they had a few revelations to deal with. The data tapes, containing the history of the Colonies, as well as the scans from their time on Kobol, were a major paradigm shift. The huge pyramid-temple-tombs, slowly crumbling from long ages of neglect and now blasted to rubble by the Cylons, and the gigantic sphinx in front of them, could _not_ be ignored, or explained away. As Byrne compared them to images in the disks from Earth, it was obvious that a common origin explained much.

"They're gonna love _this_ back home," he'd commented, and Jena just kept on reading. The death of Kobol, the migration to the Colonies, the long slow climb back from Stone Age "penance" to spacefaring power, to the war with Cylon, and the final Destruction that sent the Fleet on this journey; they devoured all of it. For the moment, Adama had left out the facts of Baltar, and the treason at his hands that had led to their defeat. Given how sooner or later, Byrne would likely be meeting Baltar (since Adama knew that diplomatic tact would require granting Baltar the chance to have a conversation with the Earthman via telecom at the very least), the last thing he needed to do was give Byrne information that could result in an unpleasant initial conversation, and set off a bad chain reaction of events.

"So, they're looking for Earth," said Jena, in their quarters. Soon, arrangements would have to be made for Jena, but for the moment, no one was complaining at such "roughing it". "This is so weird, Pop."

"Yeah. Sounds almost like something out of Erich Von Daniken."

"Who?"

"Some guy on Earth, who believed in ancient alien contact. Wrote a bunch of books on it, years ago. Sounds like maybe he was on to something."

"But if Earth was settled by people from this Kobol, then why are these Colonies so far away from it?"

"Ya got me, hon. There's a lot of stuff I just don't have the answers to. Sounds like _they_ don't, either."

"What about these Cylon guys, though? Could _they_ have found Earth?"

"Like I said, I don't know, kid. Since I have no idea how far away Earth is, it's possible they don't even know about it."

"Let's hope they never find it," said Genesis, watching images from the annihilation of the Colonies, as wave after wave of Cylon craft blasted cities to rubble, and slaughtered every living thing they could find. Their huge, fearsome BaseShips gave her a chill, their sleek, cruel lines telegraphing death from every inch as their mega-pulsars incinerated millions from orbit.

"I don't get it though," Byrne frowned, "There's one of those kinds of ships pacing the Fleet, off the port quarter. Close enough to reach out and pat their butts. And from what I'm hearing some of these Cylons are actually working on _their_ side now. Weird that they'd put up with something like that." But then again, he thought to himself, he could remember his uncle's stories about Soviet defectors, back during the days of the Cold War, and he'd also seen firsthand former members of Al-Qaeda terrorist cells, hands red with innocent blood, developing a conscience and switching sides to help the good guys. Even so, the idea of programmed machines, a bunch of glorified transistorized drain pipes, suddenly "switching sides" was a totally new kind of concept to deal with. It was one thing he'd want to find out more information about from Commander Adama. In fact, he'd seen two of those "Centurions" up close, partly dismantled, in Wilker's lab.

_Weird._

"Well, _I_ think it's weird."

"You and me both, kid."

"So, what are we going to do now, Pop? Here? I mean, these guys are a zillion years ahead of us. What use are _we_ gonna be?"

"Well, you can bet I don't intend to just sit around and veg, kid. Some things here are a lot like home, aside form their annoying politicians. Soon as we get the language worked out, I'm going to start studying their technical stuff. At least whatever's not classified. Maybe Commander Adama can find _something_ useful for me to do, once I get past flint knapping."

"He'd better." She looked at the data files for a while longer. "When are you going to talk to their Council?"

"Adama has called a meeting for tomorrow. I just hope they have the Universal Translator or whatever fixed before then. This morning, Apollo looked at me like I was a looney-tune."

"Why?"

"Well, he introduced his sister, and I think I either asked if 'she fixes bridges', or something about her driving delivery for Safeway."

"Ouch."

"Uh huh."

"Speaking of safe…"

"Yeah?"

She clicked off the screen, and looked at him. Looked at him with her mother's gaze.

Make that _glare. _

"Don't ever hide the truth from me, again, Pop."

"Hon…"

"No, I mean it. You were sick. You were dying. And you didn't tell me." She looked at him, and the hurt was obvious.

_God, just like your mom! Her eyes…_

"I didn't want to worry you, hon. Finishing repairs to the ship and getting away was paramount. If I had told you, you wouldn't have been able to concentrate on what needed to be done."

"But just staying behind?" she asked, voice rising. "How…"

"To save weight, Jen. You saw how we barely made it." She opened her mouth to argue, again, but he raised his hands, in surrender. "But, hey. Okay. Yeah. That's the past. We're here, and we survived."

"Okay. But don't ever hide the truth from me again, Pop. Okay? We have to stick together! We can't keep things hidden. You're . . . you're all I have, Pop."

_Oh Jen! You have so much to learn!_

_Which reminds me…_

"Okay," he surrendered. "So, what do you think of these Colonials? As people?"

"They're okay. Near as I can tell, from what I've seen so far. Commander Adama reminds me of those old paintings in the history stuff, of some Biblical Saint."

"Yeah," smiled Byrne. "Yeah, he kinda does, doesn't he. I don't know how he manages to hold it all together. This ship, let alone the entire Fleet. He must have the patience of Job."

"I guess. I like Cassie, too. She said that she, Starbuck, and some of the other crewmen were having some sort of card game, tonight. I guess we're invited. She's nice."

"Yeah, she is," replied her father. "And Sheba? Apollo's wife?"

"Yeah, she's nice, too. Asked me a lot of stuff about what it was like, living rough down on that planet. In fact, she invited us to dinner, some evening when she and Apollo's duty schedule's allow them time off together. What do you think?"

"Sounds great."

_Perfect!_

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* An ancient practice of uncertain origin, the _baga_. The tendrils of smoke serve to guard the entrances, so that no evil spirits may enter the room unseen.

** Called the _breka, _or offering, the one who has saved the life of another is thought to have a claim upon the life and soul of the one saved, and is thus considered within their rights to subsequently change their mind, and slay the person in question. In modern times, this is no longer done. (usually)

*** On Eridu, water is very precious, and thus to share it was not something, in former times, to be either offered or taken lightly. By sharing water thus, the pact is sealed. The screams are to call the spirits of the Four Quarters of Heaven to witness that a new warrior has entered the ranks of one's family or clan. The entire ceremony itself, also of very ancient origin, is called the _Giparu, _or the "Bringing in."

++ Although minted, the 1933 issue of the $20 Gold Piece, also known as the "Double Eagle", along with all other gold coins of that year, was never released. Upon assuming office that year, FDR withheld the 445,500 of them minted from circulation, and when the U.S. was taken off the Gold Standard in 1934, they, along with almost all the gold coinage in the country, were seized, melted down, and cast into bars. A few, however, escaped, the most famous being the one sold to King Farouk of Egypt. Another was sold at auction in 2002, for over $7.5 million. Despite tight security, several were stolen from the Philadelphia Mint, and a few are rumored to remain unaccounted for, to this day.

Until now. -;)

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_**Chapter Fifteen**_

As soon as Adama got the latest report from Pliny and Horace on the translation of the "Silent One's" journal, he knew the time had come to tell Byrne about the true meaning and nature of what his compatriots had ended up facing. And he would also make sure that Apollo, Sheba and Tigh, the only other three who knew about the Derelict, would be present as well.

The Executive Officer arrived first, looking somewhat restless since he knew there was no way of telling _how_ the Earthman would react to this kind of information. Indeed, even Adama had to admit there was a possibility that if Byrne was not the type given to belief in the supernatural, he might come away regarding his hosts as crazy people, and that might make him prone to be less cooperative when it came to giving them more vital information about Earth down the line.

Finally, the door opened and Sheba, fresh back from debriefing her cadet patrol, entered first, followed by her husband and the Earthman. The two men looked as if they'd been in a very friendly, jocular discussion. Byrne, Adama noted, looked much more robust, vastly improved, in terms of health, than the day of his rescue. Indeed, he already looked less aged and haggard than he had that day.

"Thank you for coming," Adama rose and said pleasantly. He motioned towards a decanter and some glasses. The former Navy CAG nodded. "It looks as if you've all been enjoying each other's company."

Byrne looked over at the Commander and smiled, "I was telling your son, Commander, that given enough years, he'll eventually get tired of having that beard of his. Believe me, after more than fifteen years, I was _very_ glad to get rid of mine!"

"And I was telling Commander Byrne, that all it takes is the right incentive to keep one from getting tired of it," Apollo chuckled and motioned his head toward Sheba who just shrugged her shoulders with an impish expression. Tigh rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"I intend to stay neutral in _that_ debate," Adama said and then adjusted his tone to its most serious. "The reason why I've asked to see you, Commander, is to inform you of something of the gravest significance. So significant that you are not to talk about this to a single person outside this room, and that includes your daughter."

Byrne's smile faded as he moved over and settled himself in the chair directly across from Adama. Apollo and Sheba remained standing, flanking him on either side while Tigh remained in the chair at the back wall of the room since he knew he wouldn't be able to contribute as much to the discussion.

"Commander," Byrne said quietly, "That's….kind of a tall order you're asking because Jena and I….we have no secrets from each other. Not since the day her mother died."

"You have to make an exception in this instance, Commander," Adama remained blunt. "And before I tell you anything, I must have your word on that."

_Crying out loud! It's like that day at the Pentagon!_

Byrne quietly exhaled, looked down into his glass, and then with an air of reluctance nodded, "Okay. I can see that this is way bigger than I'd thought. Very well, 've got it."

"This concerns the matter of what happened to your compatriots on the _Cabrillo_," Adama said, "You've…..had a chance to read your friend…..Ehud's journal."

"Yes," Byrne said quietly, "It's….all so bizarre. Ehud was the least superstitious man I know of. An observant Jew, yes, but…..he seemed so frightened by what he experienced that….well, you'd think he'd come face to face with the Devil himself."

Adama's ears perked slightly, not having expected to hear an obscure Sagitarian term, certainly not by someone who'd never been there. Sheba took in a loud breath, and Byrne noted it.

"That's interesting that you'd use that term, Commander," Adama said, "What is your definition of what you call…..the _Devil_?"

"Oh, I don't know that'd be so hard to explain to you people, since I don't think your concept of religion is the same as----,"

"Try me," Adama gently interrupted.

"Well….in our culture, most of us on Earth believe in the notion that the Devil is the ultimate symbol of evil. The very embodiment of all that is vile and corrupt. The one who has the power to deceive and corrupt men's minds and souls, and in the end potentially enslave them for eternity in a kind of…..everlasting torture and bondage."

"Does your culture have other names for this…._Devil_?" Apollo interjected.

_Oh God! Ehud! What did you stumble into?_

"Gosh, there are many names depending on the specific Earth sub-culture. There's…..Satan, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles…."

"Hold it," Adama interrupted, "Mephistopheles? That's one of the names you use on Earth?"

"Well, it's not one of the more common ones, at least not in my time, but, yes it has been used. You can find it in old books, and other antique literature."

There was an air of amazed silence in the room. Byrne felt as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Adama dropped it.

"Commander," he said, somberly. "It would seem that the ties between our cultures are closer than we both at first realized. And I think, on that basis, it will be easier for myself and Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Sheba to relate this information to you."

"Understood. Let's have it."

"A question, first, if I may," asked Tigh. Adama was a bit surprised. Tigh seldom interjected himself so, therefore it must be...important.

"Shoot," said Byrne. "Uh...I mean, go ahead, Colonel."

"Aside form Mephistopheles, have you ever heard the name _Iblis_?"

"Oh man," said Kevin, looking at the XO, then the rest in order. "This is getting weirder than Technicolor earwax. Yes, I have."

"And?" asked Sheba. She found it incredible that right away, there was this instant confirmation that Iblis, or perhaps someone just like him, had been able to make his presence known on Earth itself. And that no doubt accounted for how he was able t o present a convincing facade that could lure Byrne's compatriots to their ultimate doom. A doom that she herself had witnessed in the dark corners of the Derelict when she'd fired her laser at an approaching demon, and then for a brief instant saw the flash of what it had once been......a frightened man, face contorted in horror and pain, wearing a uniform identical to the one Byrne had been wearing when he'd first been discovered.

"On my world, in a large sub-culture called the Arabs, that is the name of the Lord of the Evil Jinn." If Byrne thought _that_ was weird, he was even more taken back to find that _jinn_, as a term for non-corporeal entities, was common on Skorpia, _and _Borallis. "I'm really hating where this is heading," he added. "I take it from your expressions that this isn't just theoretical. That you've run into this...person. Iblis. Metestopheles. Satan. Old Scratch. Am I right?"

**"**So it would seem," Adama said and then motioned to his son, "Captain Apollo, you may begin."

The conversation that followed would last two long hours for Captain Byrne. And when it was over, his stunned and subdued state of mind left no question but that he intended to keep his word to Adama and say nothing about what he had just learned.

"Commander Adama," said Byrne, as he stood at the hatchway to the _Galactica'_s bridge. It seemed as if every eye in the place was focused upon him. "Permission to enter the bridge."

"Granted, Captain Byrne." Adama gestured him in, and led the way up to the Command Level. There, Omega sat at his post, along with Athena and the rest. "We're ready to resume our voyage. As you know, the course to Earth is laid in."

"Yes," said Byrne. Adama had informed him that the Colonial Fleet had remained in the system for some days, scouting for, and mining "tylium", for fuel. Now, fuel aboard and Vipers recovered, it only remained for the Fleet to get moving again, and resume it's journey. Given Byrne's origins, Adama had decided to let him do "the honors".

It was like closing a chapter on his life, as puzzles that had plagued him for years were finally being pieced together. It was uncanny that these people's search for Earth had led them to Proteus, and the final resting place of Ehud Gur. Ehud, a good friend and colleague, for whom he had already offered up the _Baruch Dayan Ha-Emes*. _While no Rabbi, and his Hebrew really sucked, he knew that his old friend would understand.

God! Who would have thought that his old friend and colleague would emerge from a tale that had intrigued these people for well over a year? One more clue, one more piece of evidence that Earth really existed to them, when before it was perceived as largely folklore to a general populace, if they knew about it at all. Hell, the more Byrne thought about it, the more he realized that it was a bloody miracle that the Colonials had then shown up on his door step, just as the planet he and Jena had called home was about to be ripped apart. The fact that they were now heading for Earth, for _home,_ was absolutely mind-blowing. He'd be counting his lucky stars from now til doom's day . . .

Or maybe someone a tad higher up?

"Captain Byrne?"

Drawing him from his reverie, Omega showed him which control pad would initiate the firing of the main engines. He got up, and Byrne took his seat. For a moment, he couldn't believe it; a massive alien starship, of immense power, and it was under _his _hand! This was beyond anything he had ever dreamed. Yet, as he looked around, it was undeniably real. He looked down, remembering what he had been shown.

"Course for Earth laid in," he said. "Main engines start."

_Man! This is just soooo Trek! William Shatner would be so proud!_

He pressed the button, and at once could feel the vibration, as the power swelled within the mighty warship. The _Galactica_ began to move, faster and faster, her hoard of remoras trailing out behind her. Then, a light flashed on the panel, and they were into lightspeed.

Just before relinquishing his seat to Omega, he looked down at one of the monitors. There, on the aft scanners, the shattered planet that for so long had been his home, was now a fading smear of light.

_Goodbye, Genesis. Goodbye, Beloved._

Then it was gone.

That evening, down in the maintenance hanger in Alpha Bay, sitting in the remains of the wrecked shuttle Apollo had flown to the now-destroyed planet, Adama looked up from the report in front of him, to Master Chief Varica. Since the death of "Taybor", he had been in charge of maintenance and repair for the Vipers in Alpha Bay. From Adama's expression, it was obvious that the report had not gone down well.

"You are sure?"

"Yes, sir. I did the examination myself, and swore the tech to secrecy. No one else knows."

"Damnation!" hissed Adama softly. He looked around him. The shuttle, damaged as it was, nonetheless responded to Jensen's signal, and managed to lumber aloft, before finally going dead. Found outside the debris field of the planet, it had been recovered. Beyond repair, it would nonetheless serve as a source of parts. "Just…just damnation!"

"I wish I were wrong, Commander," said Varica. "But there's no question." During the examination and repair of Sargamesh's Viper, attention was given to the faulty fuel-dump valve. Only, so it had fallen out, it hadn't gotten to be faulty on it's own.

It had been helped. The sensors in the Viper that triggered the valve, in the event of over-pressurization of the fuel cells, or in response to a direct command, had been deceived. A command had been entered into the Viper's system, telling the computer that the fuel tank was over-pressurized and about to blow. As per programming, the valve opened, and out went the fuel, nearly stranding Sargamesh far from the Fleet.

Tearing through the ship, Varica had at last found the immediate cause. A small electronic chip, concealed in the forward wheel well, and wired into the Viper's computer system. Dormant until Sargamesh had tried to head back to the _Galactica, _the flash card had activated, and entered a new command into the system, overriding the original system software, and ordering the computer to open the valve, and dump the fuel. Only pure circumstance had saved Sargamesh from being stranded permanently in space, or pulled down helplessly into the planet's atmosphere. And, though Varica was still investigating, so far, no other Vipers had been found sabotaged.

It had been a blatant attempt at murder.

"We have a saboteur aboard."

_Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, _Galactica, _leads a rag-tag fugitive fleet, on a lonely quest. A shining planet, known as Earth._

* Literally "Blessed is the True Judge," a Jewish blessing on bad news, upon hearing that someone has died. In most cases, except when the deceased is close family, it is recited with God's Name.


End file.
